Casualty
by madame.alexandra
Summary: Han and Leia begin to look to the future of their marriage, and of the New Republic they live in, as the war years fade further away. Despite progress, they still contend with the traumas of the past. An installment in the Identity 'verse. H/L; AU.
1. Epilogue, Part 1

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* * *

 _Epilogue, Part I_

 _[2 years post-Identity;  
1 year + 1/2 post-marriage]_

* * *

Standing atop the ancient stone dais at the center of sacred Massassi Temple, she gazed out over the ancient sanctuary hall, admiring its quiet, strong beauty, burdened with sad, bittersweet memories, yet finding solace in the place as it was now – preserved, honored, a breathing, cherished testament to a lost planet.

The Alderaanian Haven was at last open, a hard-earned beacon of solace to a community that had existed in limbo for too long. The Diaspora converged on Yavin to see the memorials and resorts and homes and hearths that had been constructed for them on this oasis, the place from which Alderaan's devastating end had been avenged, where the Empire had turned the tide inadvertently and ensured the galaxy would answer their weapon with a refusal to cower and have oppression ministered to them as if it were the nectar of life.

The efforts of House Organa and the Alderaanian Council were tangible; beloved and awe-inspiring – the way they had preserved Alderaan's appreciation of nature in their efforts to build their safe harbor within Yavin, rather than on it – elements of the Alderaanian tradition of blending homes and communities into their natural surroundings tangled with traditions of other planets that had a wholesome respect for their wildlife and forestry.

The preparations leading up to the consecration of the Haven had been lengthy and meticulous – Rouge Organa's determined planning, Winter Retrac's logical organization, Bail Organa's sage attention, care, and guidance, and Leia Organa Solo's heart and mind – all went in to ensuring this place was a spectacular refuge, where now the scattered Diaspora gathered both to venerate and eulogize fallen Alderaan.

The opening ceremonies consisted of several weeks devoted to rites and sacraments traditional to Alderaan, many that had not been performed since the planet's destruction – whether it be because they required a monarch, and their monarch was in desperate fear for her life, hiding and fighting in the shadows of the Empire, or because they were too painful to carry on with, with the survivors so scattered, struggling to find a reason to go on –

This place was a reason, she hoped – this place would be like a lighthouse, a buoy in a storm, a quiet corner of the world, where the healing might really begin, and with therapy and support and a central location to gather again, perhaps, _perhaps_ the suicide rates would go down, and Leia wouldn't have to watch her people suffer quite so much.

She knew the Haven was no replacement for what they had lost, but she had so much hope for the place –

She knew her family did, as well – and these consecration days were the most she had immersed herself in Alderaanian culture and traditions since her wedding day, and prior to that, she could not remember when she'd felt so connected, so intimately woven into the fabric of the society that raised her – and she needed it; she needed it so badly, more than she had realized, until this very moment.

She felt closer to her mother than she had in months – years even – and it eased the tight feeling in her chest, and the ache in her abdomen – Leia tilted her head up subtly, to feel the sun on her face as it streamed through carved runes in the stone awning – and she took a deep breath.

She remembered the last time she had stood on this dais, resplendent in white, the only colour she had ever worn back then – cool jewelry at her throat, hair braided neatly and coiled on her head – standing with the leaders of the Rebellion, and somehow still so alone, as she arranged her mouth into an elegant, royal smile, projecting emotion she did not feel, presiding over the medal ceremony for the Battle of Yavin.

She had barely known Han Solo then, barely wanted to; he had winked at her when she placed the medal around his neck, flirtatious and charming – and she had been a devastated teenaged princess who thought he must have been daring indeed, to think she'd care about a handsome face when she had just lost everything –

\- and now that man was seated behind her, at her right hand, attired in robes native to her home planet – Leia knew he occasionally leaned over to mutter a question to Winter; she knew he was likely slouching, only a little, and Rouge was subtly giving him stern looks across the raised platform, but thinking of him there, knowing he was there – it gave Leia strength.

She had imagined these days of ritual would be things of joy, glorious even, devoid of the heartache and loneliness she had felt the last time she stood on this dais, and yet though she felt no loneliness this evening, she did feel heartache – it was this specific rite more than the others, this –

Her father said something quietly to her, so quietly his lips barely moved, and no guest was the wiser, and Leia turned her head back a little, turning towards him with grace and certainty, her eyes meeting his for a moment.

She looked back at her father, reaching out to take the baby from him, dipping her head in the smallest, earnest nod in answer to his silent question, and for a brief moment she glanced back at Han, and he gave her the smallest smile.

Leia nestled the baby securely in her arms, paying careful attention to make sure her head was supported and she was comfortable – and she turned to face the crowd, a smile pulling demurely at her lips –

She felt the same heaviness she had felt after the battle that had obliterated the last of her youth and innocence, though this time the weight was not on her shoulders, but in her arms – she felt such a hollow emptiness for a moment, amplified, somehow, by the baby she held against her chest.

She took a deep breath – the child's parents knelt before her, humble and delighted, their heads bowed respectfully and their arms crossed across their chests – next to her, the Viceroy presided over his part of a traditional christening ceremony, speaking reverently and clearly – speaking about duty, love, the special responsibility of parenthood –

Leia looked from the parents, to the baby in her arms – she stared up at Leia with calm, wide eyes, curious and bright with wonder – was it wonder, or was it confusion? Did she know it was not her mother who held her? – Leia relied on a technique her mother had taught her, a way to breathe in and out slowly, and calmingly, without the world seeing she was nervous, or scared, or –

 _Sad_ , Leia thought simply – _sad_.

She lifted her hand and placed it on the infant's stomach, worrying suddenly about her gown – it was petal pink and detailed with fine silver gems, and she hadn't thought that such a design might scratch the baby's skin – she shifted her, holding her head up higher on her arm – the little girl turned a little, giving a small, sharp cry.

Next to her, her father trailed off, an amused look on his face – the parents looked up – the father looked mortified, the mother merely looked concerned, and Leia gave her a soothing look, tilting her arms a little – _she's alright, she's alright –_

Leia was suddenly and sharply afraid that the baby would start crying, and she would not know what to do – she had seen ceremonies before, in which her mother had soothed a sobbing child during a christening; the ritual went on – and, as it happened now – quiet, fawning laughs went through the crowd at how oblivious babies were to royal ceremony.

It had been so long since Leia held a baby – she had performed a ceremony like this during the war, when she had come across a hiding Alderaanian couple, but that little boy had not been so young, so newly born, and she had been distracted, hurried – before that, the last baby she held – she could not remember.

And this, this baby – was not the baby she wanted to be holding.

Her arms were tense, and she tried to relax them – the baby looked at her without making a sound, and Leia felt a sharp pain in her chest – was this how she had looked at Bail Organa, when he held her for the first time, when he brought her home to his barren wife? Or had she closed her eyes and cried for her dead mother and all the suffering in her world?

 _Leia._

Her father said her name softly again, the sound hushed, whispered as his head was bowed – she looked at him, and he gave her a supportive nod; she saw no reproach on his face, no disappointment that he had to nudge her for her part yet again, and she swallowed hard – she had steeled herself as well as she could, she only hoped that her voice was steady when she spoke –

"What name have you given this child?"

 _Steady_ – she breathed a sigh of relief; she sounded like herself; she sounded okay, and perhaps that was because she could feel Han's eyes on her, and when he looked at her with determination like that, she felt like he was holding her up.

The mother held her hands out, palms up.

"Your Highness," she said carefully. "If it please you, and if we could be trusted to bear the honor, we have named her _Breha_."

Leia nodded – only when a family chose to give a name of the royal family to their child did they add the words about trust and honor. She was not quite surprised – within the Diaspora, those that had recovered, and had gone on to have children, had a penchant for giving the last queen's name to their daughters.

She turned to her father.

"Viceroy, are you pleased?" she asked quietly – another addition, only in the ceremony, again, when the parents wanted the blessing of a royal name.

He inclined his head.

"It pleases me."

Leia turned.

"It pleases me," she answered likewise.

Raising her hand to let it drift to the baby's forehead, she looked down to the child, murmuring a lullaby-like ancient hymn as she named the child, forming the letters of the name _B-R-E-H-A_ over her in their peaceful sign language. She lifted her head, faced the onlookers, and took a deep breath.

She spoke clearly, and warmly, her voice almost musical, offering the requisite blessings – closing out the ceremony, effortlessly performing her duties, while thinking – _Mama, how many times did you feel like this over the years?_

 _Mama_ , Leia thought, sighed to herself – _where did you find your bravery?_

In the very last moments of the christening, Leia asked the parents to rise – she thanked them, she wished them well; her father did the same – and she handed the baby gingerly back to her mother, taking a moment to place her palm to the foreheads of each parent, and bless them as well.

She stepped back, and as she clasped her hands in front of her, she noticed, with some confusion, that she felt hollow again, without the tiny, warm weight of the baby.

She caught her breath, and the theatrics of the ceremony's end passed in a gentle blur; she held her own, and yet she felt drained – she prided herself on her comportment, knew she made her father proud, knew her mother would have loved her for it, but in the end, she wanted to run, she…wanted to cry.

The rites ended, and Leia heard the scrape of seats behind her as Winter and Rouge rose, no doubt to begin walking through the crowds with polite greetings – Leia was required to do so as well, though she recognized she needed a break, a little haven of her own for a moment.

"Leia," her father asked, turning to her. He reached up to cup her cheek, a kind, paternal gesture that meant the world to her. "You are so like your mother. I find you as heroic as I always thought she was."

Leia smiled at him, and drew her eyes away from his only when Han stepped up behind him, clapping Bail on the shoulder firmly, and then stepping forward to take Leia's hand. He gave her a knowing look, and Bail let her go, nodding in understanding – she had done her part, and he would let them have a moment.

Han led her out through a secluded exit behind the dais; he cut a path through the brush with his boots, and her gown slipped over it easily – she held his hand tightly as he walked, until he found a cluster of trees, and stopped, pulling her close underneath them, and resting his palms on her shoulders lightly.

He caught her eyes, his hands moving soothingly, thumbs brushing her collarbone.

"How hard was that for you, Sweetheart?" he asked softly.

Leia closed her eyes lightly, and shook her head, her lips parted. She nodded slowly.

"Hard," she admitted in a small voice. She looked up at him. "Very hard," she said.

Her voice cracked. Han nodded. He brushed his knuckles under her chin, and slid one of his arms around her shoulders, pulling her close. She breathed out quietly, her shoulders trembling.

"You?" she whispered.

He rested his chin on her head for a moment, and nodded wordlessly. He closed his eyes and shifted so he could press a kiss to her temple and then her brow, just above her eye. Hard for him because he so hated seeing her in pain, and startling, in how difficult it was to look at her holding that baby, because it was the first time the loss had felt tangible to him.

She tried to take a deep breath and it stuttered hoarsely, fighting her in her throat – _if my make-up smears, if my eyes are red, they will all see something is wrong_ – but she couldn't help it; she pressed her face into Han's chest, and surrendered to a quiet sob.

His hand pressed into the nape of her neck gingerly.

 _It's all right, Leia._

She knew it was alright – and she was okay, she was, she just needed a little more crying, a little more healing – the Haven was the right place for her – she felt like her mother was with her, and her mother gave her strength –

* * *

 _Epilogue, Part I_

* * *

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	2. One

a/n: hark! another installment in the Identity 'verse; a core story, rather than one in the peripheral/anthology works. this is the third of the three original stories i planned when i sketched out the arc for this whole Bail-inclusive concept. _Backlash_ was added at a later date. returning to my usual custom - for the most part - this story does have an epilogue; done in two parts, with part one serving as the prologue. before we get into _Casualty,_ a story told in retrospect, see the following notes for refreshers/to orient the timeline:

 **ANH (0 ABY), ESB (3 ABY), ROTJ (4 ABY);** Identity began in **4 ABY** (prologue, two months after the Battle of Yavin), spanned the year **5 ABY** , and ended with a wedding in **6 ABY.** The Naberries followed 6 months later, still in **6 ABY;** Backlash finished out **6 ABY** \- and so where we are now, is roughly two months (notice I never define months in terms of a galactic calendar, as I choose to take my creative liberties) into **7 ABY.** To reiterate - the events of _Casualty_ are recounted in retrospective; the core conflict of it is mid **7 ABY.** The onset of 7 ABY means Leia and Han's first wedding anniversary has past, and Han has been on a (very) brief deployment.

this story 'verse continues to be au.

* * *

 _One_

 _7 ABY_

* * *

There was nothing special about the night; it was an ordinary one that fell after an ordinary day, and yet somehow it felt wild and uninhibited – her heart stuttered instinctively, beating with a rhythm that felt like risk, dancing under Han's palm as he cupped her breast, kissing her slowly in a languid, post-coital spiral down.

She pressed her body closer to his; skin, slick with sweat, sliding against skin, and she rested her forehead on his, her breathing shallow and light – his heart was beating hard, too, and she wondered if it were for the same reason. She licked her lips, her lips brushing his cheek, her hips rocking forward just barely. Han groaned huskily, his hand moving down her back to her hip; he shifted and rolled to his side slowly, pulling her under him, settling his hips on hers – Leia arched her back, her wrists resting on his shoulders, and lifted one of her ankles to his back for a moment, holding him there.

He nudged her nose with his and kissed her again, his hands under her shoulders, holding his weight on her perfectly – enough to make her feel warm, and close to him, without pinning her. He was so good at that – so, _so_ good at that – she let her leg fall back to the sheets, and he shifted his hips back, easing out of her, his lips running down from her jaw to her throat.

Leia closed her eyes, her breathing starting to even out; he settled on his side next to her, kissing her clavicle, soft skin on her shoulder, one of his legs between hers, his arm still underneath her. His hair brushed against her neck, and he adjusted his head on the pillow, first reaching up to brush hair back from his forehead, and then he slung his arm low over her hips.

His index finger traced a pattern on her thigh, his chest rising and falling against her, breathing hard, but quiet, and soothing.

It had never occurred to her that this would be so – intense, that the simple act of having her implant taken out would make sleeping with him that much more powerful and intimate – nothing between them, really nothing, tangible or intangible, and that was – it was a first, in its own way.

She supposed if she didn't want this, hadn't decided this, it would be a different feeling altogether – terrified panic, maybe, as the realization set in; Winter had been in hysterics one morning, just one, after a lapse in judgment with a rugged palace guard –

The whole experience was fiercely personal, and she felt a rush like vertigo – it felt so risky, so irresponsible, yet she wanted to laugh at herself for those lingering smart-girl thoughts because –

They were doing this on purpose.

She had deliberately had her implant taken out; Han deliberately didn't take any alternative precautions, because, because – a stray thought struck her, almost as a reflex – _what if I get pregnant?_ – on the tails of that, though, an immediate, scarier question struck her – _what if I_ don't _?_

 _Whatifwhatifwhatif - !_

She was as nervous as she was exhilarated; there was a whole future undertaken in this, a host of intimidating responsibility, and at the same time, so much faith, and so much trust in Han, and the kind of person he was, and in the strength of their relationship as a whole. She supposed – she knew, actually, by the state of children's social services on many planets, that there were plenty of beings, human and non, who did not think twice about this sort of thing, but for her this was no casual undertaking – and it wasn't for Han either.

There was something uniquely eager, but hesitant in the way he touched her tonight, something hungry and primal in his kiss, but reserved as well, and Leia blinked, her vision hazy at the edges, sleepy even – she gazed up at the canopy over their bed, pursing her lips – was this new element this evening really a thing that could be solely attributed to the inconsequential fact that she – was not on birth control?

It wasn't inconsequential though; that was the whole point. It was a routine fact of life to some beings, that much was true – love, marriage, children – but Leia's life had been less linear, and certainly less average even if it had not been torn asunder by war – her path went something more like childhood, senate, war, destruction, love, loss, love, identity crisis – and Han's path was no less jagged.

Beyond getting married – and even that had been a fight – this was the first utterly normal thing Leia and Han were trying to do, and it had been so difficult for her to get to a place where she could take this step with ease.

She shifted onto her side, running her hand over Han's hip up to his ribs, pressing kisses to his chest. He moved his head to give her more space to maneuver, and curved his arm up around her back, holding her loosely. His chin rested on the top of her head.

She could tell from the way he was breathing that he wasn't half-asleep, wasn't even falling asleep; he was thinking, and she smiled to herself, cocking a brow at that – she knew him well enough to press her lips against his heart and know if he was thinking, sleeping, tired, angry –

He mumbled something into her hair, but it seemed unimportant, he might have just been murmuring her name thoughtfully. His voice was a soft rumble, and Leia let her hand fall off him, turning easily onto her back again. Han's hand moved from behind her shoulder to her hair, his other reaching down to draw sheets over their feet – she closed her eyes.

She opened them again when she heard Han's muffled laughter, the sound buried in the pillow, and then clearer when he shifted his head up, moving his hand to brush it back from his face. She tilted her head up and over, her brow quizzical, and noticed he was grinning – was that – disbelief? He looked almost shocked.

Leia parted her lips, interest piqued. She nudged him with her elbow, arching a brow when he looked down at her. He drew one leg up, knee pointing towards the ceiling, and propped himself up on an elbow, looking down at her. His expression seemed incredulous for a moment, and she moved back on the pillows, giving him a prim, expectant look.

"I was just thinkin'," he said in a low, dry tone, "that, uh," he rubbed his knuckles under his chin briefly, and then lowered that hand to the mattress between them.

"Hmm?" she asked wordlessly.

He let out a short, husky laugh.

"You're not gonna believe me," he said.

Leia's heart raced, intrigued, and she rolled onto her side to face him, propping herself up on her elbow as well. She bit her lip, studying his expression intently, and inclined her head commandingly.

"Ah, well, now you've got my attention," she breathed.

He nodded, arching both brows, thinking _are-you-ready-for-this-Sweetheart_ – and laughed shortly again. He shook his head.

"Never done it before," he said, lifting up his hand almost flippantly and gesturing between them. He blinked seriously. "Never had sex without usin' anything."

Leia stared at him – for a long minute, before she blinked, easily understanding why he sounded skeptical even of his own confession. She tilted her head a little, her lips compressing in an amused, muted smile.

"You're right," she sang softly. "I _don't_ believe that."

Han smirked, but something in his eyes told her it was entirely true, and she bit her lip, widening her eyes a little, thoughtful, as if to ask _– are you – are you serious?_ Han shrugged, and nodded firmly.

His shoulders relaxed a little, and he adjusted his jaw on his palm.

"'Cause you think I was such a damn irresponsible guy?"

Leia laughed.

"You brought this up," she placated good-naturedly. "You said I wouldn't believe you," she reminded him, and then shrugged. "I don't know," she said slowly. _"Never?_ You wise up as you get older, but at first I assumed…you were young, and, when you're young, you're stupid. Winter even...forgot, once," she faltered, narrowing her eyes. "Never slipped up? Not once?"

Han shrugged, his lips twitching, and shook his head confidently.

"I wasn't _that_ young," he said dismissively. "Not young enough to wanna knock up some girl and leave 'er on 'er own – "

"Of course you wouldn't _want_ to," Leia interrupted logically.

"Yeah, didn't know much, but I knew enough," Han said, his voice gruff suddenly. His brow darkened a moment. "My," he broke off. "My ma, y'know," he said, more seriously. "Some guy did that to her."

Leia nodded with understanding, pressing her lips together. She reached over and interlaced her fingers with his, her heart beating a little quicker for a moment – that his history, his romances – whether they were transactional, or personal, had been influenced by the scar his fatherless childhood left on him – that revealed some inner trauma, and Leia recognized the shadow that must have constantly lingered in the back of his mind.

He watched her looking at him, and cleared his throat after a moment, leaning closer.

"Just how _young_ d'you think I was when it started bein' an issue, huh, Princess?" he asked in a low growl.

Leia's nose crinkled, her cheeks flushing.

"You – I," she stammered, "you – were never – specific," she protested under her breath, the blush still warming her cheeks.

Han smirked at her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Leia laughed huskily, burying her face in his chest for a moment, and then lurching back, resting her head flat on the pillow and looking up at him through her lashes. She considered him slyly.

"You were thirty, weren't you?" she teased.

Han gave her a mildly affronted look, then thought better of it, and snorted. His knuckles popped softly against his temple as he adjusted his head again.

"Wasn't that young," he said vaguely, again. "Whatever you're thinkin', probably older," he said flatly. "It was the streets, Leia – you grow up fast some ways, slow in others," he frowned thoughtfully. "Most women ain't gonna mess with a guy who's livin' on the streets, unless she's a street girl, and the _street_ girls ain't gonna mess around because if they mess with one, all the others start thinkin' she's fair game, and that's dangerous."

Leia looked alarmed, and Han winced, reaching out to run his hand over her hair.

"Sweetheart, I never hurt any street girl," he soothed.

"I know that," Leia said immediately, taking his wrist. "Han, I know you'd never do something like that – I just understand their fear. _Fair game_."

"Yeah," Han said heavily. He was silent for a while, and then he shrugged again. "Yeah," he said again. "You got me. Never done this with anyone but you."

Leia tried to hide the affectionate smile on her face by ducking her head. She cleared her throat and looked back at him, deadpan.

"So, what you're saying is – you _were_ thirty."

Han flung an arm around her loosely and spun her towards him, drawing his fingertips down to her ribs and tickling her. Leia gave an involuntary shriek of laughter, the sound bursting through the room like fireworks, and Han grinned, tucking his face into her neck, his breath warm against her skin.

"Han, Han," she gasped, managing the words between giggles, and the soft ravishing of his hands, "Ha- _a-an,"_ she squealed – and he lightened up, pausing to hear her, "do you – mean to tell me," she gasped out, trying to appear vexed, "that on our honeymoon – when I wanted to do something you hadn't done – "

Han gave her an amused smirk –

"Oh, don't _start_ , Your Worship – "

"We could have just – scrapped the birth control – instead of – "

Han's hand roamed down to her ass, and pinched, and she squealed again and twisted away, turning her face into the pillows and laughing. He leaned over her, his lips finding her ear –

"You said you didn't mind that so much," he whispered seductively, "even said you liked it the second time," he drawled.

Catching her breath, laughing into the pillow, Leia shivered at the sound of his voice –

"It'd be a pretty pointless endeavor _now_ ," she fired back, giving him a pointed look, and Han nodded, shaking his head. He kissed her jaw, and leaned back to give her a knowing look.

"Don't think you'd have been too hot on the idea of takin' that implant out back then," he said perceptively, and Leia let out a slow breath, her shoulders relaxing.

Han stretched out on his side next to her again, letting her settle beside him, and she nodded her head, brushing her tangled hair back from her face. She tilted her head, and compressed her lips in agreement.

"Hm-mm," she agreed. "Not back then," she said softly.

She sighed again, content, and laid her head on her arm, facing him. He moved closer and pressed his lips to her forehead, the kiss lingering. His hand moved over her shoulder, and then down over her breasts, caressing lazily, with no immediate plans for anything else.

Leia's lashes fluttered as she calmed back down, the laughter and activity fading naturally – they had come to this point so slowly, and yet seemingly all at once; when the worst of last year's backlash had subsided, and things had calmed down, Leia had ventured cautiously into this world of asking – what her chances were; what damage the Death Star had done.

Han's touches ventured down her sternum to her ribs and abdomen, slipping lower with slow intent, and Leia's lips parted, her breathing hitching. He'd been gone, for a short while at the beginning of this year, serving out a deployment, putting down threats in the Western Reaches, and Leia had felt more of a creeping fear for him then than she ever had – she was always afraid to lose him, but then, somehow, it had struck her harder – _we want a baby; don't let anything happen to him_ now - !

Nothing had; he was Han as he always was, brave, a little reckless, cunning and intelligent – he'd returned on time, and without any new scars, and Leia had made a few hesitant, inquiring appointments.

It was a kind, intelligent, veteran female specialist who told her that from what she could tell at this point in time, Leia had nothing to worry about; the doctor was a native of Hosnian Prime, impeccably educated, and highly recommended by Pooja Naberrie, who had discreetly referred her – _She's my doctor,_ Pooja had said – _you'll_ _love her; the Imperials booted her from her research academy because she's a woman, and she did a bunch of underground work during the war, giving poor women safe, contraband healthcare -_

Leia did like her, quite a bit, though she was reserved around her; conservative about her private health, and nervous to hear about it, anyway, Leia was not as warm as she could have been – but Doctor Arksiah Mellis was good, and she told Leia honestly, and point-blank – that she had run the requisite tests, and nothing seemed off – _hormone levels are a little skewed, but you've had an implant for so long, that's likely why –_

Even after the implant had come out, though, and Leia used a more temporary form of birth control, she was told there was no indication she'd have any trouble – _sometimes_ , the Hosnian medic told her kindly, _you just have to see what happens._

Leia took a deep, unsteady breath, and Han heard it – raised his head, his hand pausing between her legs.

They were, they were seeing what happened.

"Leia?" he asked mildly.

She turned her head to him, lips parted. She rolled onto her side more fully, and his hand slid between her legs as she moved, cupped against her. She slid her arms around his neck, her fingers tangling into his thick hair. Her stomach twisted nervously, but just as quickly, her heart skipped a few beats as if she were thrilled, and she took another, quieter breath, at a loss for words.

He moved his hand, and she made a soft, appreciative noise in the back of her throat; he took it from between her legs and grasped her hip, pulling her closer, his eyes sharp, and intent.

"S'different, isn't it?" he asked suddenly, voice deep and gruff, looking at her as if he understood exactly what she was thinking – exactly what she _had_ been thinking, this whole time.

Leia licked her lips, and nodded.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Feels different," he drawled, leaning into kiss her.

"Yes," she mumbled into the kiss, pressing her palm into his neck earnestly – _I don't want this to be clinical –_ she thought in a rush, and asked herself to relax, let herself bask in the newness and the thrill of it – "We'll see," she whispered, _what happens,_ she finished wordlessly, and Han nodded fervently, gone silent himself –

He was pulling her closer still, his heart rate going up again, and she shifted her hips against him, an ache in her nerves throbbing when she found him hard again – she wanted to laugh, and she did, quietly – it had been a while since they indulged in one of those nights where neither of them got a bit of sleep.

* * *

In one of the grand conference rooms in the north wing of the Embassy, preparations for the opening of the Alderaanian Haven on Yavin were well underway. Of course, they had been underway for more than a year at this point, since the inception of the idea at the council meeting where Leia announced her engagement, but now they were _intensely_ underway; increasingly, Leia's time was consumed with meetings concerning consecration of the sanctuary-to-be.

True to the word she had given Han as the backlash against her had died down last year, she had managed her career delicately, but without much ambition, devoting time to her active projects without taking on new endeavors, and balancing her ambassadorial duties with her responsibilities to the Diaspora as she saw fit. She held her own in a comfortable career plateau, carrying on as she always had and tacitly proving time and time again that she was nothing like the monster who had fathered her - never mind, she accepted quietly, to herself, that he had not been a monster when she was conceived. Mon Mothma was more than accepting of Leia spending approximately half of her time with the Alderaanian Council, rather than the quarter of it that had been customary previously; the Chief of State understood the value of this project. Ever skilled at balancing her work load, Leia still did not allow her duties to the New Republic to become peripheral, she only managed them more strategically - which in some cases, meant asking the Council to meet in the evening hours, after galactic standard close of business.

She felt small twinges of guilt asking for it - but many of the Council members were working long, late hours anyway planning logistics and getting frameworks constructed for this grand celebration, and neither complained, nor thought it uncouth of her to organize it this way. After hours automatically infused the meetings with a more lax atmosphere, which relieved some of the tension that came with meticulous planning for these sorts of things. As it were, the infrastructure of the Haven was days away from being declared sound and ready; the Council was starting to solidify ceremonies and festivals - subjects that were Rouge's specialty, and tended to give Leia a headache.

Her aunt clung to tradition more and more as the galaxy moved forward without Alderaan, and Leia worked hard to reconcile her own increasing detachment from the sometimes stifling nature of classic royal ceremony with respect for Organa tradition, and the comfort Rouge took in it. She sat at the head of the conference table now, Rouge at her right, occupying the spot generally reserved for the Viceroy - Bail had relinquished the seat because his sister was heading up inaugural planning. Leia privately thought Rouge should be seated at the head of the table for many of these ceremonial logistics meetings, but Rouge, ever vigilant of protocol, insisted Leia was the heir; Leia had to sit in what should have been Breha's place - Leia had to make Breha's decisions. And, as she always had - Leia felt a quiet sense of awe, and intimidation, in stepping into her mother's shoes.

Rouge neatly explained an itinerary of traditional rites and sacraments that would be held during the opening days of the Haven, and Leia struggled to hold back a yawn - she compressed her lips and controlled it, lest Rouge dig a heel into her ankle under the table to chastise her for rudeness - and as always, when she felt tired, or had a headache, or identified something even minutely off about herself, physically, Leia experienced an apprehensive flutter in her chest - _does this mean I am ...?_

That she and Han had done away with any sort of contraceptives had added some element of anticipation to her daily life that could only be defined as mildly distracting, and somewhat unnerving. It provoked her into thinking the simplest things meant more than they probably did - she caught herself anxiously wondering if she was so tired because she was pregnant, or - _no, Leia; you're always tired_ \- but is it a new tired, or usual tired - and why did she have a headache? - _you always have a headache after you talk to Threkin Horm_ \- yes, but -

The mental somersaults she went through were overall exhausting, with a dash of comical; her private physician had explicitly told her to relax and take it all in stride - _nothing looks out of the ordinary, Leia, and even with women who don't have concerns, I advise they not worry until eighteen months without contraceptives have passed with no result_ -

It surely hadn't even been close to _two_ months, much less eighteen, and yet Leia nursed her nerves - though part of that was lingering uncertainty that she knew she would always have, and a vague memory of how shattered she had felt just after her wedding, when she thought she was pregnant - but she had addressed those issues, and she and Han were - 'trying,' as they called it in the vernacular.

Leia's nose wrinkled just slightly at the thought; _trying,_ she had always thought, implied there was some difficulty to the act, and Han had certainly found nothing stressful about a defined reason to have more sex. Her lips turned up at the corner, and as the subtle, amused smile graced her lips, she felt it - Rouge's sharp, elegant heel digging into her ankle under the table.

Her attention jolted, Leia lifted her chin and gave Rouge a mildly indignant glare, instinctively offended by the chastisement - struck with the irrational urge to scold her aunt - _Rouge, you can't kick me, I might be pregnant._ Pursing her lips, Leia bit back a nervous smile at the thought, and inclined her head to Rouge in a silent apology for letting her mind wander, bending forward slightly to see what she was being shown.

"Miss Beezer has gathered dossiers on individuals who are suitable to be the focus of a Christening ceremony," Rouge said, spreading out a handful of glossy files for Leia. "Of course, as with all the other rites, we'll have small versions throughout the week, but these are candidates for the one you'll - you and - ah, House Organa will preside over," she stumbled just slightly over the words, a small frown tugging at her mouth - there was still a minor issue to be worked out in terms of - who was acting in what capacity, during the grand sacraments.

Leia glanced over at her father as Rouge recovered from her moment of uncertainty, and sat back, looking at the files in front of her.

"What was the criteria for selection...?" she asked slowly, leaving the question mildly open ended - the opening of the Haven was set to include several very significant traditions; there would be a Christening, a funeral service - symbolic, for the lost planet as a whole, Winter's wedding, an equinox prayer - essentially, one grand ceremony would take place, officiated by the royal family, and then smaller versions would be celebrated throughout - Winter's wedding would not be the only traditional Alderaanian wedding, and so on. It would just be the centrally celebrated one - as would one of each of the other rites.

"Ah," Rouge began, interlacing her hands under her chin. "Both parts of the couple presenting the infant had to be Alderaanian, and the child had to - or has to - be under the traditional age of three months, and female."

Leia nodded - it had been customary for the Queen to preside over a Christening once every season, and the chosen child - never one of the nobility - was always female, in keeping with Alderaan's matriarchal element.

She spread her hand over one of the files.

"Kier and Mila Hwor," Dansa said, gesturing at the one Leia touched. "Theirs is due the month before the opening - ah, I worked with Kier on Sullust, preparing for the second Death Star assault. Mila had a miscarriage last year, so I thought it would be a pleasant honor for them," she listed. "Tesch and Brizia Kray - it will be their fifth child, but they have all boys," Dansra said - drawing an amused laugh from Winter - "and I chose them as a finalist - well, you know how we are with our girls," she joked, "and - I can't imagine what it's been like, trying to cope with their grief and their children's."

Leia nodded, turning to the last file folder.

"Yoren and Bail Prow - their surrogate is due two weeks prior to the opening, but they've elected not to be told the sex - I put them in for consideration in the case that their child is a daughter because Yoren Prow is the cartoonist who responded to that caricature of you drinking wine with Vader with the panels of you dumping wine on his head and short circuiting him," Dansra explained.

Leia smiled fondly, and the rest of those at the table - most notably, Winter, as usual, laughed.

"I did enjoy that cartoon," Leia murmured, "and this last?"

"Kaisa and Rue Macht," Evaan Verlaine spoke up, leaning forward. "They've been spearheading the linguist program we have within the Diaspora that ensures our language is preserved - their surrogate actually cuts close with the due date, but we can settle an exact time for the Christening when we choose an honoree," Evaan said.

Rouge turned to Leia, gesturing at the last.

"Their surrogate isn't Alderaanian," she warned. "She 's Nubian."

Without missing a beat, Leia arched a brow, glancing over at her father -

"I hardly hold that against her, Aunt Rouge; so was mine, in a manner of speaking," she quipped.

Bail smiled a little wryly, and Evaan cleared her throat, a subtle glint of annoyance in her eye. She ignored Rouge, and nodded at Leia.

"Another reason I advocated for her," she said shortly. " _I_ thought that was fitting."

Rouge clearly did not agree - or so Leia assumed from the tight draw of her mouth - but she took no offense to it. She gathered up the files and placed her hands over top of them, nodding to the group - well aware the final decision of who would be christened at the grand ceremony was hers. She intended to delegate it to her father; this was one of those domestic things that her mother would have done well, but that Leia had never taken time to learn the nuances of - so involved was she in an intergalactic uprising.

"The Christening ought not to be the very first thing we do anyway," Tyr Taskeen offered wryly. "If it's one of the babies that are a month old, sure, but if we're monitoring due dates here," he trailed off with a grin.

"Never an exact science," Bail agreed.

"I was born two months early," Kell Tainer offered seriously. "My mother was a very particular person. It quite upended her social schedule."

"We appreciate that useless bit of personal trivia, Kell," Dansra snorted, leaning back in her chair casually - and Leia, noticing that Rouge looked typically scandalized at the war generation's lack of decorum around the aristocracy, shared a look with Winter, and tried not to laugh.

"It's late - and before this devolves into mayhem," Evaan said, shooting a wry smirk at both Dansra and Kell, "we need to establish what we're going to do regarding the decorum and protocol for these ceremonies, because if Captain Solo is involved, he needs training - "

"Extensive," muttered Bail, louder than he meant to - and he had the good grace to look mollified when Leia shot him a glare.

"- and if not," Evaan proceeded as if her boss hadn't interrupted her to take a good-natured dig at his son-in-law, "well - we still need the framework to proceed with ceremonial choreography - as far as I can tell, we're still arguing in our maddeningly polite way over when the symbolic funeral will take place, and before we delve back into all that - Tyr?"

She offered the floor to Taskeen, and he nodded, holding his hand out, palm up.

"The last update I received from our head contractor confirmed that all residential facilities are on track to be operational and decorated by the projected date, so we can firmly establish a date for the consecration to start," he said - Leia noticed both Rouge, and her father, gave proud sighs of relief - and she relished it for them; all their hard work, their attention to this, was coming together so spectacularly - "and I know General Rieekan officiated your wedding, Princess, and has agreed to preside over Lady Winter's, but he cannot be expected to handle all traditional matrimonial events in the future," Tyr said slowly.

Leia nodded, giving him an amused smile at the thought - it would certainly interfere with his military duties in the oddest of ways.

Tyr hesitated, and shared a look with Kell, and Winter, and then plowed on with a shrug.

"We know for a fact that their are no priests - or acolytes, even - of our religion who survived the Disaster, and I would not want to mock their spiritual tradition, even with good intentions, by having historians and laymen ordain any of the Alderaanian faithful in pseudo-ceremonies - so, as antithetical as it may seem to our pacifist nature, I would like to have Rieekan educate a cadre of Alderaanian veterans, or active duty soldiers, in the traditions of the old palace guard so they can officiate," he explained.

"Tycho wants to take part," Winter offered immediately. "He's faithful, and he holds an appropriate military rank."

Rouge touched her lips thoughtfully, her expression a little sad.

"Antithetical indeed," she murmured, a little forlorn - to imagine all Alderaanian weddings forthwith to be officiated by members of the military -

Leia nodded, taking a deep breath.

"That may have to be the way of things, going forward," she said, kind, but firm. "We have to progress to survive," she noted, and then turned her head to her aunt, "and that does not always mean we disrespect the past," she added sincerely. Lifting her chin, she looked to her father, and shrugged: "We can look at it as a way to symbolize that Alderaan fought for justice and peace, rather than blood thirst."

"I see nothing detrimental to the sacrament in having Alderaanian military preside over weddings now," Bail said, and then arched a brow dryly. "One might say it is appropriate, in some respects - marriage can be quite the battle," he quipped.

Laughter ensued - polite, genuine laughter, the kind that always ensued immediately when a sovereign made a joke - and Leia gave her father a withering look, the likes of which was only given by any daughter, of any culture, whose father had just made a particularly lame comment.

"That said," Evaan remarked, "it's easy to transition into a discussion of establishing protocol."

She nodded, and Rouge cleared her throat, taking up the helm of conversation again. Behind her, a door opened and one of the attendants came in, carting with her a tray of fresh kaffe, mild wine, and caffeinated juices - late meetings called for frequent re-invigoration of the senses, after all.

"I want to establish, once and for all - that we will, if I understand correctly, not be holding a coronation?" she asked, her tone a bit clipped.

Leia gave her a weary look.

"Rouge, we've discussed this; I am not taking the crown," she said shortly. "We _established_ this - "

"It's difficult to wrap my head around, Leia," Rouge said simply. "That we will simply let House Organa die out as the last - "

Leia held up her hands calmly.

"It died with Mama, Aunt Rouge," she said, calm and soft. She took a deep breath. "You all know I consider myself an Organa, and I value - indescribably - the way I have been accepted by Alderaan, but at the core of royal orders is blood, and I will never be physically an Organa - and perhaps it wouldn't have mattered if the Disaster had not happened, and I'd married a cousin of the blood, but," she paused for effect, "I think it is appropriate that the end of Alderaan be honored with the end of the monarch - with Breha as its last queen, Father as the last Prince," she gave Rouge a pointed look. "We established this," she said again.

She turned her eyes to her father.

"I am not taking Mama's crown," she said firmly, and he nodded - he had already agreed to this, and reconciled with it. He felt - melancholy, to let tradition go, but in many ways, Leia was right; trying to continue as they had in terms of the monarchy would place a monumental burden on Han, and on any children Leia might have - and there was no real infrastructure to support it anymore - and the idea of a merely ceremonial monarchy was abhorrent to Alderaanians; it was all expense and superficial ceremony, and no effort, and that was not who they were as a people.

She paused awkwardly.

"I do not want any of you taking what I said as a - rejection of the family," she started.

"No one takes it that way," Winter said flatly, shrugging. She sat forward. "I understand what you're saying, Leia," she said earnestly - logically. "Alderaan has always had a more liberal aristocracy than most Elder Houses, but the fact remains that succession crises are always resolved by genetic lineage in the end, and even before you joined the Rebellion, you followed Pasha's footsteps more than the Queen's," she narrated, glancing around pointedly. She tilted her head. "If things were slightly different - if Alderaan were around, but Leia had still married Han and they had only male children - what?" she questioned patiently.

Bail cleared his throat.

"The crown would have gone to one of Breha's nieces," he said simply.

"Precisely," Winter said, "not to the young girl any of Leia and Han's hypothetical son might have married," she sat back again. "It's somewhat the same issue here, but there is no suitable blood relative for the crown to pass to - and do not forget, that in the situation I presented, the crown might have gone to one of Breha's nieces even if they had daughters."

Kell frowned, waving his hand.

"Hang on - why?" He asked. "Princess Leia was Queen Breha's ordained heir; her daughters would have inherited - "

"In Alderaanian law, yes," Bail said, "however, all royalty is governed by the legitimacy rulings of the Elder Houses Council. If the ruling councils had challenged the bloodline - and they would have, mark my words - Leia would have had to designate a princess of the blood as heir."

"Whereas there would have been no issue if Leia married an Antilles male, or a blue blooded member of Alderaan's aristocracy," Winter listed.

"The ruler has no power if the Elder Houses do not agree to recognize legitimacy," Rouge agreed, tapping her chin. "Yes, I see the argument - it still pains me," she added, with a resigned sigh.

"I don't think I ever knew it was that complex," Dansra said curiously. "Then again - in my life time, there wasn't a crisis that went to the Elder ruling councils," she murmured. "Is that why you spent so much more time in the intergalactic arena than domestic, Your Highness?" Dansra asked.

Leia was hesitant, but inclined her head in acquiescence.

"Yes," she said. "On the off chance I didn't marry suitably."

She had known a lot of these intricacies even as a child. She looked at Rouge and smiled a little.

"You would have made a remarkable queen, you know," Rouge said sagely. "For all the doubts you have."

Leia tilted her head, smiling a little more - leave it to Rouge to innately pick up on the fact that Leia quietly feared the regal title. Chief of State, she thought of with gentle ambition, but Queen of Alderaan? The idea was awe-inspiring; it terrified her.

"The Elder Councils having a say in it is sovereign interference," Tyr said curtly. He waved his hand. "Alderaan wouldn't have taken that well, regardless of the Princess's adoption."

Winter snapped her fingers wryly.

"You over-estimate the hospitality of Alderaan's aristocracy," she said with a snort. "They adjudicated it as a crisis when Breha's great-grandfather married that Coruscanti artist instead of an Alderaanian noblewoman, and then gave the crown to the Organas, and that bickering wasn't resolved until," she gestured at Bail, and then cocked an eyebrow. "We're liberal, sure, but we aren't perfect, we do have class rigidity rooted in ancient systems - if we were entirely egalitarian, the Viceroy would not have lost his damn mind about Han Solo."

There were a couple of shocked looks thrown at Winter for her flippancy, and Leia put her fingertips to her mouth and smirked, while her father gave a consternated mutter. Taking pity on him, Leia raised her hand, waving it gently for attention - she gave a nod to the attendant who had been waiting for conversation to die down, indicating the serving girl could quietly start offering refreshments.

"In any case," she said calmly, "we are calling my mother the last queen of Alderaan," she said delicately, "the Internment Ceremony will serve as a memorial for her, and for the planet as a whole."

"My wife would have wanted nothing less," Bail said gently - he knew that for Breha to be buried as a symbol of Alderaan in its entirety was to honor her beyond belief; every part of her had been devoted to her people and her world.

"And that I think - contrary to your argument, Aunt Rouge, and I apologize," Leia said gently, "the Interment should be the first rite we undertake to open the Haven."

"It's a maudlin way to open," Rouge said tensely.

"It's a worse way to close," Evaan offered. "There is no - joyous time for a funeral, but Lady Organa - I think most of us side with Princess Leia," she said earnestly. "We open with the memorial, we embrace the sadness and the heartache for a day or so, and then we move forward into the uplifting celebrations - into the healing the Haven is supposed to provide."

"Couldn't have put it better," Dansra offered. She pointed at Evaan. "My vote is with Verlaine."

Rouge inclined her head respectfully, and leaned back, allowing for an attendant to pour her some wine. The girl turned to Leia next, and Leia waved her hand, shaking her head; she automatically turned down the alcohol with another of those intrusive, curious thoughts - _I can't drink, on the off-chance that I'm - that I am, and I don't know it yet -_

"Leia's being healthy tonight; I'll take her portion," Winter teased, and Leia rolled her eyes mildly, shooting her friend a lofty glare.

"You ought to buckle down on planning your wedding, Madam Retrac," she said regally. "It takes time to prepare to let your hair down."

"Oh, Your Highness," Winter said, feigning shock, "we're in genteel company."

Leia smiled a little, and tapped the files in front of her.

"I think with that issue resolved, we can easily address protocol - yes?" she asked, glancing sideways at Rouge.

Rouge gave her a mildly withering look.

"Does Han truly expect he is getting out of all this without making one public appearance?" she asked dryly, and Leia laughed, casually relaxing her shoulders to look back at her father.

Bail arched a brow at Rouge.

"I would think that would generally please you," he remarked pointedly, and then sat forward a bit more. "No need to develop Viceroy Solo training classes if Leia will not be Queen."

Rouge looked mildly nauseated, and then frowned, shaking her head and composing herself.

"Well, the question to be answered is - in situations like this, is Leia going to act the Queen for these specific ceremonies? Because in such a case, Han would stand in as consort," Rouge said. "Or, will she operate as a regent, the way she did when Breha was ill or - when she stood as proxy for Breha if Breha couldn't make it to Courscant?"

Both Bail, and Winter, responded immediately, in unison: "Proxy."

Leia gave them amused looks, and Bail laughed shortly.

"These are solemn ceremonies of remembrance, Leia. Han doesn't even say your mother's name with the right accent," he teased amicably.

Winter shrugged.

"I don't want Han's free time taken up with Viceroy lessons," she said impishly. "I need him to plan Tycho's Gentleman's Evening - and, I care about Aunt Rouge's sanity," she added, for good measure.

"As do I," Leia said with finality. "We'll enact protocol for the ceremonies that designates me as a proxy queen - in other words, crown princess," she said succinctly.

Rouge nodded, but gave her a sharp look.

"He is not exempt from attending," she said critically.

Leia waved her hand airily.

"Han is well aware he's expected to attend the events," she said breezily. "And he will, if for no other reason than to somehow send you into a fit."

Rouge glared at her, and Leia gave her a charming smile, leaning to the side a little as the attendant bent down again, her head bowed low.

"Kaffe, Your Highness?" she offered.

At the offering, Leia struggled to stifle a sudden yawn, glancing around lazily for a chrono - how late into the evening was it? She shook her head a little; what else did they have on the docket? She frowned a little to herself, and then focused again on the serving girl, shaking her head more clearly.

"No, thank you," she murmured, waving her hand.

She looked up surreptitiously as the girl bowed away, suddenly wary that her refusal of both wine and kaffe would be somehow obvious - but no one seemed to notice; Evaan, in fact, was hesitantly considering a kaffe refill, frowning as she looked around -

"Are we continuing, or shall we call it an evening?" she asked, checking her personal chrono.

"We could end here," Rouge said, "though I'd like it if we ended having settled a wedding date for Winter," she added narrowly, glaring at her foster niece - Winter was being uncharacteristically nervous about setting a date.

"There is time," Winter said. "Preservation efforts in the Massassi temple are still underway - "

"Yes, there is time," Bail interrupted, "but these things approach faster than you think - I think Leia can vouch for that," he said.

"Certainly," Leia agreed, deadpan. "One minute I was telling Han I'd rather kiss Chewbacca than him, and then I merely blinked, and I was married to him. I still don't know what happened. I think he may be a witch."

"Amusing," Bail grumbled at her. He raised his hands. "I say we adjourn for the evening - I suspect at this point more kaffe will just leave us too jittery to focus, but unable to get good sleep later."

"Wise thinking," Evaan agreed, waving off a refill, and settling in to finishing the kaffe she already had.

Leia spread out her hands on the table in front of her and bowed her head to dismiss them, and chairs started scraping back - preparations were made to start leaving; Evaan leaned across the table to Dansra to ask her opinion on something in her files, and Bail stood, coming closer to join Leia and Rouge at the head of the table.

"You two - I thought I might ask privately," Rouge said, lowering her voice. "We intended for this to be mostly closed to the public, I believe - rather unlike the gala that was thrown for our return, am I right?"

Bail nodded - this whole event was to be a purely Alderaanian affair, as much so as possible. However -

"I have my secretaries beginning to compile a registry of all members of the Diaspora who are to be contacted and given funds for travel," she said. "I assume that despite it not being public, you want to include Luke, and the Naberries on the lists."

Leia nodded fervently.

"Of course," she said. "Pooja may extend a polite declination, but I intend to make it clear to them we invite them with warmth, not as a courtesy," she added, trying - and failing - to stifle a yawn.

"Yes, we want them there - Leia, are you alright?" Bail asked, giving in to a grin of amusement. "I don't think I've seen you try so hard to stay awake during a meeting since you were five years old."

Leia sighed, straightening a little and rubbing her temples.

"You know, remarkably, I think I may have uncovered the root of my recurrent insomnia," she said. "It seems my trouble sleeping may actually be related to my constant caffeine intake, rather than residual traumatic nightmares," she joked darkly. Lowering her hand, she arched a brow acerbically. "I did not anticipate the effect drastically reducing my intake would have," she muttered.

She cleared her throat and reached out to gather the files she'd been given, hardly thinking twice about the comment - thinking, actually, that though this had been a late evening, it was earlier than anticipated, and Han might be up for a hot shower -

"You should nap under your desk at work and call it meditating, which is what I'm convinced Luke does," Winter snorted. "Meditating. Pretentious napping," she crooned, amusing herself, and Leia turned to glance at her, giving her a small smirk - she gathered the files to her chest, a little distracted thinking of Han, and turned, nearly running headlong into her father - she hadn't realized he was still crowding her shoulder.

She arched her eyebrows at him, and he looked at her, mildly curious.

"Why a 'drastic' reduction?" he asked.

Leia stepped to the side a little, her eyes on his, parting her lips.

"Ah, well," she started - he didn't seem accusatory, or even suspicious, but Leia didn't think her father was a fool - neither was she necessarily averse to telling him, at some point, that she and Han had made certain decisions regarding the future - but it was early, and the decision was new, and she also felt strangely vulnerable about it, as if informing him explicitly was somehow - oversharing.

She must have blushed, because her father held up his hands and took a step back, inclining his head a bit as if to tacitly ask forgiveness for bothering her. He folded his arms tightly, looking back up at her intently. She compressed her lips, and lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug, saying nothing, and acutely interested in what he was thinking - and Bail did nothing but smile blithely, reach out to put a hand on her shoulder, and lean over to quietly whisper a blessing in their native tongue, one that succinctly translated to - _good luck._

* * *

As the only member of House Organa who had personally sought an apartment for herself – truly personally; as in she had contacted the appropriate realtors and contract officials, and gone in person to view real estate – Leia, somewhat tongue-in-cheek, considered herself an expert on finding a suitable home on Coruscant – and paraded herself as such to Winter.

Winter took that for what it was worth – and Leia had been delighted when Winter asked her for opinion concerning where to look for her first home outside of the Embassy Residence. Her initial fervor over wanting to help Winter had conflicted with the demands of her work, and she had not been as much of a guide as she had wanted to – but Winter, she discovered, had found as much adventure and frustration in trying to find the ideal place as Leia had in the fragile early days after the war.

She felt privileged to be shown around the place Winter had now, taking in the empty, immaculate corners, and imagining how thrilled Winter must be, thinking about, moving in here, having her own, independent place, and sharing it with Tycho –

"He's still serving in the Mid Rim for the next month," Winter murmured, her hand brushing her lips as she turned a slow circle in the atrium-style parlor. "He's headed to Yavin to rendezvous with Stavnist after that, to begin implementing security on the Haven," she trailed off, coming to a stop, and tilted her head at Leia.

Leia tilted her head thoughtfully, waiting – she stood opposite Winter, leaning against the subtle curve of the wall – sunlight streamed through the cut glass ceiling of the modern penthouse.

"So, he hasn't seen it yet; not really," Winter went on, clasping her hands lightly in front of her. "I walked through it with him, but really – I said it felt right, and he trusts that," she explained. She smiled brightly. "I signed the lease two days ago."

Leia grinned, her hands folded at her lower back to cushion her lean against the wall – she looked around again, admiring Winter's little place. It was large, but by no means extravagant, not by Organa standards; it was more stylish and high fashion than Leia's home, but Winter's taste had always been sleek and couture.

The atrium parlor had that gorgeous glass ceiling, and spiral stairs led up to the second level, where several sleeping quarters were. The lofted nature of it reminded Leia a little of the Corellian cabin, though Winter's place had gloss and sophistication that was nothing like the chalet's quiet, hidden beauty.

"I think I'm going to spend a lot of time here – make it a private wedding planning headquarters," Winter said, with a wry laugh, "and I'll be getting it ready to live in – do you think it would be fun to keep Tycho clear of it, until after the wedding?" she asked, smirking. She gestured around. "Or would it be cruel?"

"What does Tycho think?" Leia asked.

"Tycho," Winter sighed. She smiled calmly. "He's as laissez-faire as I am particular," she decided with a laugh.

"It could be fun, then," Leia decided. "You ought to blind fold him, and lead him across the threshold," she teased lightly.

"Ah, yes; as my blushing bride," Winter agreed, her hands falling to her sides.

She held them out, and then spun around, her cheeks flushing.

"I'm rather glad I never moved out of the Embassy on my own," she reflected thoughtfully. "Living under Pasha's roof until I'm married is frighteningly archaic, and yet somehow," she snapped her fingers lightly. "That's _thrilling_."

Leia nodded, biting her lower lip thoughtfully. She furrowed her brow lightly.

"It's odd how that works," she murmured, thinking about how wildly important it had suddenly been to her that she have a traditional royal wedding – only after she had her father back.

"You think tradition is embedded in us?" Winter asked. "In our DNA?"

Leia gave a tiny shrug.

"I don't know what I think is in our DNA," she answered, with a quiet sigh. "I don't know if I want to know."

"Fair enough," Winter said wryly.

She took a deep breath, and then beckoned to Leia, and Leia pushed off from the wall, following her into out of the atrium, into a dining room, in a stainless steel kitchen where – Leia noticed – there was single bottle of deep burgundy wine sitting on the an island countertop.

Winter's palm skimmed across that smooth counter as she leaned up against the edge of it, and produced two petite glasses – as if by magic – from a little shelf carved into it. She smirked, the glasses clinking softly as she set them on the counter – and then produced a corkscrew as well.

Leia folded her arms lightly, coming to stand across from Winter.

"Ah," she sang softly. "Why am I not surprised?"

She cocked a brow, and then unfolded her arms and placed her palms on the counter, leaning forward on her weight and sighing. She tilted her head, clicking her tongue in faux patronization, and Winter twisted the cork out of the bottle, biting her lower lip.

"It needs a celebratory toast," she argued. "You know it does," she teased.

"Well, yes," Leia agreed, tossing her head. "I should think you'd want to save that for Tycho – "

"Tycho and I can christen in other ways," Winter said, popping the cork and catching it effortlessly, then setting on the table and rolling it towards Leia – Leia caught it, and trapped it loosely under her palm. "As I am sure," Winter winked, "you and Han did in your place."

Leia lifted one shoulder innocently.

"We'll have a champagne toast when I carry him over that threshold," Winter drawled, smirking again. "You," she said, pouring small measures of the dark wine into each glass, "are here now, and you," she nudged Leia's glass towards her, "understand the sort of – thing – I am going through right now, so," she set the bottle down, raised her glass – "a toast."

Leia bowed her head, compressing her lips in a little smile, and traced her finger around the base of her glass thoughtfully. She curled her fingers delicately around the stem, and lifted it cautiously, her eyes captivated by the dark red of the wine.

"To going from my Pasha's home, to my husband's home," Winter said solemnly, deadpan for only a moment before her eyes flashed wickedly. "Hardly," she snorted, and then arched a brow. "That may be what it looks like – but this is a toast to what I want, and what I deserve."

Leia nodded.

"Hear, hear," she said, watching as Winter lifted her glass with ease and tilted her head back for a careless drink.

Leia tilted hers back and forth a little, looking down at the wine, and then lifted it to her lips, tipping it enough to let it wash over her lips and the tip of her tongue for the barest taste before she placed it back down without a sound.

"You signed the lease, anyway," Leia said breezily, catching her tongue between her teeth. "Tycho is moving in to his wife's home."

Winter laughed, setting her glass down and leaning forward on her arms to mimic Leia's stance. She waved her hand, letting it come to rest over the top of her glass loosely.

"Han did the same, didn't he?" she asked, without waiting for an answer. "What progressive men we've found."

"True honors to Alderaan," Leia agreed sternly.

"Tycho was bred that way," Winter said. "Han," she winked at Leia, "that's a catch."

Leia nodded in agreement, pursing her lips.

"Han's a unique breed," she murmured. Her brows knitted thoughtfully. "He's just one of those people who genuinely thinks everyone is equal – species, gender, ethnicity – all that be damned. And it's not political," she shrugged, "it's not an _–ism._ He just…treats people how he thinks they deserve it. Which is honest, I think," she said. "More honest than what I do, sometimes."

She snorted, and Winter shrugged.

"You do good in the world," she said, curling her wine glass in towards her, and taking another lazy sip.

Leia watched Winter stare curiously at her glass for a moment, and cleared her throat softly, cocking her head to the side with interest.

"What are you going through right now?" she asked. "That I – especially – understand?"

To her knowledge, Winter had no doubts about Tycho, and there was no disapproval from Rouge or Bail regarding the match; she was comfortable in her place in the galaxy, well-adjusted to the world she was rescued into –

Winter sighed, her shoulders shivering a little as she frowned thoughtfully, and looked back at Leia with just as much interest.

"You told me once that for a long time after you got Han back from the Hutts, you had this constant feeling clawing at you that no happy circumstances would last," Winter said quietly, gesturing vaguely to her chest.

Leia nodded.

"Because they hadn't," she remembered dully. "I was happy on the way to Bespin for the first time in years, and," she trailed off.

"And then you thought Father might try to upend all that," Winter went on.

Leia nodded again.

"Well, now I keep getting this – irrational, I know – haunted feeling that – _I'm_ going to lose what _I_ have," she explained quietly. "I am almost too well-adjusted, after all we went through – on the ship," she stopped for a moment, and sighed. "My own mental stability makes me nervous," she said dryly. "I mean – I lost Alderaan, we all lost Alderaan –but what if I lose this," she gestured around, "what I have with Tycho."

Leia smiled sagely, the corners of her mouth turning down instead of up – but still a smile, reflective, and knowing.

"You won't," she soothed. She shrugged a little callously. "I can't promise you that you won't lose Tycho. I can't even promise myself I won't lose Han," she said, "but you won't lose what you have with him."

Winter nodded.

"True," she whispered. She tilted her glass at Leia, and then took a sip – "That's a good way to look at it," she said huskily, smacking her lips. "You don't like this dark of a red?" she asked, eyeing Leia's glass.

"It's fine," Leia remarked casually. "Smoky."

She cupped her hand around the class, running her finger around the rim until it gave a soft, pale whistle.

"How are Father and Rouge handling it?" she asked.

She knew her own marriage had been difficult for her father – and understandably so – but his bond with Winter was different than it had been; they'd shared the stranded experience, and Rouge, too, was so acclimated to living with Winter – it had to feel like more disintegration of what little they had of the life they had known.

"I think timing it with the opening of the Haven was a good idea; I think it helps," Winter said slowly. "They know that – especially Pasha – this is the world they gave us, and we're taking it, and living in it," she sighed. "I do feel a bit guilty leaving Pasha alone with his spinster sister," she joked.

"Mmm," Leia mumbled wryly. "Rouge told us she wasn't a spinster, remember?"

"Rouge probably thinks she lost her virginity to a thranta saddle," Winter fired back, and Leia threw her head back laughing, squeezing her eyes tightly shut at the thought.

"Winter," she gasped, struggling with bursts of giggles.

"Can't you _imagine_?" Winter snorted dramatically. "A young, windswept Rouge, tearing home to the palace in tears, fitfully pulling her hair down in front of a mirror as she laments the loss of her innocence – convinced, _convinced,_ that she has accidentally broken her vow of chastity by taking a particularly vigorous jump – "

Leia shook her head, holding up one hand and turning her face away – _stop!_ – she mouthed, biting back more laughter. Winter grinned, trailing off, and dropping the breathy accent she'd adopted to mock her finicky aunt. She sighed, raising her eyes to the ceiling, and then tilted her head.

"For all her idiosyncrasies, I love her," Winter said. "She's a remarkably strong woman; stronger than her peers imagine, to be sure."

She was silent for a moment, and then looked down into her wine, and back up at Leia with her eyes squinted with determination.

"I've asked her to stand in as my mother for the wedding," she confided quietly. She lifted her shoulders in a shrug to reinforce her statement, and nodded. "I know I give her the hardest time of all, but," she trailed off for a moment. "Mama Breha is gone, and Rouge…has cared for me just as much."

Leia smiled at her warmly.

"I think that's lovely, Winter," she said huskily, giving a nod for good measure. "I can't imagine how much that means to her."

"Very much, I hope," Winter said matter-of-factly. "I _want_ it to mean every bit as much as she wants it to."

Leia took her hand off her wine glass to support her chin with it, tapping her lip and smiling blithely at Winter. Winter smiled, shrugged a little sheepishly, and then pursed her lips. She had lifted her wine to take another sip, and paused, focused on Leia's hand suddenly. She leaned forward a little.

"Is that…?" she asked, curious. "Is that a diamond?" she asked, reaching out for Leia's hand – she hadn't noticed it until now – it was such a subtle, unobtrusive piece of jewelry.

Leia glanced down, and then extended her arm, placing her fingers in Winter's so Winter could examine the new piece of jewelry. It was a thin, elegant pearl band with a sharp, finely glittering diamond set into it – nestled on her ring finger, a snug, perfect fit.

Winter looked up quizzically.

"Han," Leia explained simply. "It was an anniversary gift," she said – and to answer Winter's unspoken question, she said: "I've had it at the jeweler, getting sized."

"Ah, so he didn't know your ring size – he's _not_ perfect."

"Not quite."

Leia wrinkled her nose affectionately and drew her hand back, looking at the ring for a moment – Han had made no big deal about giving it to her, just told her pearls were customary for a first anniversary on Corellia, and he had a saltwater pearl molded into a ring, because diamond wedding bands were Corellian, too, and he had decided he wanted one for her.

"It's really beautiful," Winter said sincerely, tilting her glass at it appreciatively. She gave Leia a stern look. "Did you get him something ni-i-ice, too?" she drawled.

Leia nodded primly.

"A ring," she said innocently, "with my mouth," she whispered suggestively, and then pointed down towards to her hips, "below his waist," she said, pursing her lips in a mock kiss.

"What an outstanding metaphor," Winter said, toasting her. "Brava, Your Highness."

Leia dipped forward in a little bow. She lifted her head back up smiling, and Winter had affixed her with a pointed glare, one eyebrow ticked up impatiently.

"Ah, now," she went on casually; pointing one manicured nail decisively at Leia's barely touched glass. "You want to enlighten me on this lack of drinking?" she asked mildly.

Leia tilted her head wordlessly, and Winter held her gaze.

"It likely would have gone unnoticed – by me – if it only happened at the Council meetings, or at State dinners," she listed, and sighed pointedly, "but in private company, just us girls?"

She narrowed her eyes.

"Leia…?"

Leia flattened her hand on the counter, situating the stem of her wine glass in the little v-shaped nook in between her fingers, and slid it towards Winter in defeat. She wavered for a moment, unsure what she was going to say, and then she straightened up a little, pressing her palms against the edge of the counter, shifting her weight.

"It is merely precautionary at this point," she said honestly.

She hesitated for another moment, and then sighed.

"I…ah, well, Han and I," she paused, "aren't using contraceptives."

That seemed like an appropriate way to put it – a way to declare up the step they were taking without making it sound like they were consumed with one thing at the moment, which they weren't, not at all. It was just – seeing what happened, though Leia still wasn't convinced anything was going to happen, necessarily—though it hadn't been _that_ long, either.

Winter set aside her own glass, and rested all her weight forward, twisting her hands together. She clutched her fingers, then flattened them and tapped them on the counter with a cautious smile.

"That's new," she said slowly. "That's…kind of big, isn't it?"

Leia breathed out slowly, nodding. She leaned forward again and slipped a hand back through her hair, lowering her hand to press it against her neck. She nodded again.

"Yeah," she agreed. "I think Father noticed," she added – but she hadn't said anything to him; she and Han hadn't said anything to anyone – she just didn't feel the need to broadcast it. "We're just," Leia broke off, searching for words, "seeing what happens."

Winter gave a low whistle.

"And what does that…mean, in laymen's terms?" she asked lightly, drawing a laugh out of Leia.

"Nothing," she said in a rush, shrugging. "I – nothing, really," she confessed. "We go on and live our lives the same way and," she shrugged again, "and there's no birth control, that's all."

"So," Winter whistled. "You could have a baby."

"Might," Leia murmured.

Winter studied her for a moment.

"Is that what you want?" she asked neutrally – she knew Leia had her reservations.

Leia cupped her chin in her hand and looked at Winter thoughtfully for a while. She traced circles on the counter with her nail, and then gave a very small incline of her head.

"Yeah," she said again, much softer.

Winter grinned sincerely.

"You'll be such an incredible mother, Leia," she said in a rush. "You will – _god_ , I've been so hoping you wouldn't let all the doubts get to you," she confessed earnestly.

Leia flushed.

"There was no way I was going to give you an earful of my opinions," Winter went on, "because that's not fair to you, and I know you needed your own headspace to figure this out – but I'm – so relieved."

Leia took a deep breath, smiling.

"Thank you," she murmured.

Winter nodded, a fascinated look on her face.

"What's that – like? Living, um, walking around every day," she waved her hand, fluttering her fingers, "knowing you might – I mean, you aren't drinking wine," she trailed off thoughtfully.

"Um," Leia sighed. "It's – eerie, it's a little – cerebral," she said honestly. "Everything is – more or less the same, there's just kind of a lingering – anticipation; will it happen, when," she listed.

Leia shrugged.

"I had the implant removed the month after he got back from the Reaches," she said.

"Hmm, couple months ago," mused Winter.

Leia tilted her head back and forth. Her lips turned up a little ruefully.

"I'm bleeding now," she noted.

Winter blinked at her, and then rolled her eyes.

"Then indulge, Leia, honestly," she said with a laugh, pushing Leia's wine glass back towards her.

Leia caught it, with a stern look.

"I am attempting to get into a habit – "

"One glass," Winter coaxed. "And enjoy it for a week, at the _least_ , will you? I can't imagine you've got much risk of getting knocked up while you're bleeding."

"It can happen – "

"I meant I'm sure your sex life has come to a grinding, brief halt."

"It doesn't really bother him," Leia said under her breath.

Winter closed one eye and looked at Leia's – red – wine with a critical glare.

"I am surprised, and yet not surprised," she muttered dryly, glancing up at Leia through her lashes. "Is there anything he won't do?" Winter griped.

"Han does _not_ like his hair pulled," she said, deadpan.

"Hmm," Winter reflected stoically.

She pretended to think for a moment longer, and then smiled, shaking her head at Leia. Leia shrugged half-heartedly, and returned the smile.

"It must be like – living on the edge, constantly," Winter mused. "You don't know when your life is going to change."

Leia nodded.

"As usual, you manage to whimsically define the most terrifying part of it all," she quipped dryly.

Winter laughed, but leaned forward, biting her lip. She tucked her knuckles under her chin, pursing her lips intently.

"You think you're ready?" she asked, purely out of curiosity.

Leia took a deep breath.

"I don't know if I'll ever _be_ ready," she said – slow, but honest; languid, but steady. "But," she said, with a simple shrug, and a tentative smile. "I want to be," she said honestly. "That matters more."

Winter smiled brilliantly, taking her glass, and lifting it for a toast – and this time, Leia matched the gesture, and did partake of the wine with more than just a brush of it against her lips – Winter was right; she ought to enjoy it while she knew it was harmless – she had no idea which glass of wine might be her last for a long time, and while there was still nothing to worry about in terms of the time it took, she had to keep herself occupied with the tangible aspects of life as they existed for her now.

* * *

After spending the better part of the morning wreaking havoc on the egos of an elite cadre of the New Republic's military's freshest new fighter pilots, Han had shirked off the so-called mandatory office hours he was supposed to put in and skulked off to the _Falcon's_ private hangar to occupy himself with activities more to his liking. In other words, absolutely anything other than mundane paperwork and management, the sort of things peacetime generals were inundated with - but that bored Han into oblivion.

The morning's work - _that_ had been fun. Despite his rank, Rieekan - and even stuffier officials such as Dodonna - recognized Han's unique, often illegal skills; he was frequently enlisted to tamper with flight programs, artificially damage ships, and generally prank - though military leaders preferred to call it immediate action emergency training - the rank-and-file of the military. Given his experience not only with rigging painfully outdated systems to new technology - and forcing reliable work out of something such as the _Falcon_ \- coupled with his uncanny ability to mess with technical systems and set things haywire in the most frustrating of ways, he was crucial in masterminding scenarios that threw untested pilots out of sorts and gave them vital lessons learned in the end.

Hell - it was a damn good spectacle, spending hours conceiving of ways to - in layman's terms - fuck with the soldiers under his command to increase their problem solving skills and jolt them into the harsh reality of what could go wrong during real battles. Han stressed them with focused viruses downloaded into their systems that tested their troubleshooting knowledge, but also did things as simple as unplugging batteries so their consoles failed to charge, and watching in amusement as these young, genius minds were drawn into an increasing spiral of panic, forgetting to think simple, to think small - _Ya can't just be a natural at the helm, kid,_ Han was known to gripe - _what if your artoo unit gets fried? Ya gotta be a mechanic, too._

Rieekan said he was good with his command, and he was still damn good in a fight - but Han had been disenchanted with the Imperial Academy for the same reason he was increasingly disenchanted with his military involvement now: it was bureaucratic, when things were stable; it was politicking, and could be insincere - and Han's rank had been a product of emergency circumstances, not the calculated education and experience of many others - he was street smart, and unnaturally cunning, and the risks he took had won precious victories during the Rebellion - but peace was tedious, and the recruits were more difficult to instruct - they were handling more and more crops of military graduates who hadn't fought during the Rebellion, who had joined a military that knew relative peace, at this point, and they didn't understand, yet.

 _Better if they never understand, eh?_ \- Rieekan looked at it that way, and Han figured he agreed, but he felt an unexpected indignant bitterness rise in him when some hotshot young pilot complained General Solo's teaching mechanisms were unfair tricks - and Han didn't have the eloquence to explain some things, other than tellin' 'em - _look, you privileged bunch of pricks, sometime's the plan's as simple as deciding you ain't gonna die today - you go from there._

The mature, almost wise thoughts left Han with an odd sort of grimace, half-missing the days when he was the arrogant, shoot-from-the-hip smuggler, and half-seeing how he'd been through more experienced eyes, and wondering how the fuck he'd survived at all, much less come to have what he had now -

He was proud of what he'd done, of how he'd served, and he considered Carlist as good a friend as any, but he looked on a renewal of his commission with increasing apathy - it wasn't that he'd given up fighting, but his most recent deployment had been not much more than maintaining status quo, and projecting a power presence. He didn't thirst for the horror of war - but he wasn't that interested in the uniform during the Pax Republica.

He didn't have a damn clue what else he'd be doing, but then, he'd never had much of a neatly defined life plan in the past, and that had worked out - he'd ended up with Leia - and whether that was a fluke, or fate, he wouldn't change a second of it - she'd said, if she ended up running for Chief of State, she'd probably need him to resign his commission anyway, for conflict of interest reasons.

Han snorted, and reached up to wipe his wrist roughly across his forehead, sitting back from the tangle of electrical wires he'd wrenched out of the guts of the spare bunk in his cabin. He sat back against his bunk, and let his arms hang over his knees, frowning thoughtfully - for a split second, he considered money, and then he remembered money was irrelevant; they didn't need two incomes - hell, if Leia decided tomorrow she'd rather quit politics and sit at home and try on lipsticks for fashion magazines all day, her allotment from the Alderaanian exchequer would still promptly arrive twice a month.

He tapped the hydrospanners in his hand against his shin absently, frowning at himself - why he'd decided to have some sort of mild mid-life crisis on the floor of his cabin, well, that was an unanswerable question - though there was a decent chance it was just because he had some disciplinary files he was supposed to address in his office at headquarters, and that meant decisions on people's careers - and Han just flat out didn't like doing that shit.

He didn't have any intention of returning to less-than-legal hell-raising, but that didn't mean he wanted to police a bunch of recruit's lives - if they did their jobs on the clock, why should he give a damn if they got piss-drunk at some underground bar with a couple of discount pleasure maids? Sure, he was a little more forgiving towards laws now that he was such an upstanding citizen, but people's personal honor wasn't his business -

Though, he figured he had better reform his ideas about monitoring other people's lives if he was going to be a father.

He figured he better get some ideas in general about being a father, other than the overarching conclusion he'd come to a while ago that bluntly consisted of _I want a baby with Leia._

Han lifted the hyydrospanners and ran his thumb along the chipped grip, looking past them at the bundle of wires he'd been untangling and diagnosing. Half of them were frayed - he didn't think he'd bothered with actually rewiring and fixing this particular system in years - he'd just bundled the tears in industrial tape, and then, when he _had_ been motivated to fix it, when he and Leia had been stranded in wild space, she had started sleeping with him, and it no longer mattered if the spare, smaller bunk was warm or not, because they had plenty of warmth between them.

It didn't even really matter if the bunk worked right now, Han was just unusually intent on fixing every minor defect the _Falcon_ had ever had lately.

He lifted his head as he heard Chewbacca ambling up the ramp, returning from lunch. The scent of a fresh, roasted sausage sandwich wafted down the hallway, clashing with the oily, mechanical smell that Chewie was sure to whine -

 _[What is that acrid smell, Cub?]_

\- about.

The Wookiee poked his head into the cabin, his eyes narrow, and tossed Han the sandwich he'd grabbed for him. Han dropped the hydrospanners casually to catch it, and peeled at the wrapper, gesturing over at the mess of a spare bunk.

"Couple of the frayed wires caught on fire and singed the cushioning," he explained gruffly. "So'm lettin' 'em calm down before I replace 'em."

Chewbacca tilted his head curiously.

 _[You are finally fixing that thing?]_ he asked.

Han shrugged, and nodded, getting up and sitting on the edge of his bunk rather than the floor. He leaned forward, elbows planted on his knees, and bit into lunch, giving Chewie an appreciate wave for picking it up. He bit off way more than he could chew, and instantly regretted it, as it stymied his attempt to inhale sandwich at once - Chewbacca rolled his eyes at him, and leaned against the arch of the cabin's entrance.

 _[Why?]_ He ventured flatly. _[It is rarely used. You never bothered before.]_

"'Cause I am," Han retorted through a mouthful, a stubborn expression on his face.

Chewbacca arched a brow, amused.

 _[Why?]_ he repeated, in an elongated, patronizing growl.

"'Cause what if I need it?" Han answered.

 _[I will bite,]_ Chewie said, adopting one of his favorite Basic colloquialisms. _[What would you need it for?]_

"I jus' might need it," Han said, giving Chewie an annoyed look over the fast diminishing sandwich he was trying to enjoy - in peace. "'Cause it should work like it's s'pose to," he argued.

 _[Like the airlock should have new, state of the art, double security overrides installed, and the cockpit seats should have new upholstery?]_

"Gonna assume you're talking about the new leather," Han said loudly, pretending not to know damn well what upholstery meant. "And yeah, they should - you said you liked that."

 _[It is less itchy,]_ Chewbacca allowed. _[Why did you put safety webbing over the openings in the smuggling compartments?]_

"Makes 'em safer," Han grunted caustically.

 _[You are suddenly afraid of falling in?]_ Chewie goaded.

Speaking through the last mouthful of his lunch, Han glared at his old friend -

"Why're you giving me the Mustafar Inquisition, pal?" he demanded.

Chewbacca gave a casual shrug.

 _[No need to get defensive,]_ he crooned. _[I was just curious as to why you appear to be nesting.]_

Han shook his head, narrowing his eyes.

"Don't know what that means - ain't gonna take the bait," he muttered.

Chewbacca made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a mocking laugh, and Han swept up the wrapper from his food and launched it at him, scowling mildly. Chewie swatted it away, and stuck his neck out, peering at Han with exasperation.

 _[You have been acting abnormal since your return from the Reaches,]_ he accused.

"I have not," Han protested indignantly.

 _[You have, and so has Leia,]_ Chewbacca asserted simply. He stepped closer and eyed Han critically, cocking his head to the side. _[Are you two breeding?]_

Han sat up straighter, setting his shoulders, and giving Chewie a disturbed grimace.

"What? Why did you call it that?" he griped.

Chewbacca blinked, unfazed.

 _[Call it what?]_

"You said - "

 _[Breeding? That's what it is called. Is that what you are doing?]_

"Chewie," Han whined edgily. "It's not - we're human," he protested. "It's not called - that sounds weird."

Chewie gave a shrug.

 _[It is all the same,]_ he said simply. _[Is that what you are doing?]_ he repeated.

"No," Han said emphatically. "Uh, well," he went on, changing his mind a little. "I mean, Leia's not pregnant or anything," he corrected.

He tilted his head, suddenly fascinated with the concept - because, for all he knew, she could be, right? She hadn't said anything. She might not know - he definitely wouldn't until she did. Distracted, he stared at Chewie a little unfocused, until the Wookiee waved his massive paw, his equivalent of snapping rudely in Han's face.

 _[She is off her hormones, though?]_ he asked, matter-of-fact. _[I wondered. Her scent is different.]_

Han gave him an annoyed look.

"Stop smelling my wife!"

 _[I don't do it intentionally - ]_

"You know I hate it when you do that, talkin' about - pheromones and - stuff - "

 _[I forget you are a prude.]_

"'M not a prude!" Han insisted darkly. He flung his hand out in disbelief. "It just ain't - uh, polite, commenting on people's hormone scent," he said grimacing again.

He fully understood the irony in him telling someone to be polite - and Chewbacca laughed, tilting his head and backing off with his teasing. He considered Han for a moment, and then strode into the room, standing opposite him and leaning against the wall with his arms folded. He looked very intent and curious.

 _[How does it work?]_

Han looked at him, incredulous.

"Whaddaya mean, how does it _work?"_ he quoted. "I know there's stuff you don't get about humans, pal, but come on."

Chewbacca tossed his head, impatient.

 _[That is not what I mean,]_ he said. _[I mean - if she is not on the medicine, how is she not pregnant? Is there a problem?]_ Chewie asked solemnly.

Han frowned, squinting one eye, and then relaxed a little. Was Chewie trying to take a dig at his virility...?

"Oh," he muttered. "Yeah, I forgot," he said, rubbing his temple between his thumb and index finger - Wookiee women had one fertile season every couple of years, and conception was guaranteed - one and done, unless there was some genetic defect that rendered either male or female barren. "Uhh," Han stammered. "S'not an exact science, with us," he said shortly. "It's not, uh," he snapped. "Automatic."

Chewbacca blinked wisely.

 _[Fascinating,]_ he warbled. _[Seems like a lot of work.]_

At that, Han grinned, and smirked at him.

"Not work I mind puttin' in," he joked.

 _[Poor Leia,]_ Chewie fired right back, his lips curling in a smirk of his own.

Han glared at him, folding his arms loosely over his knees as he leaned forward. He jutted his hand out and gestured at the bunk, frowning.

"I just thought it was time to start fixin' stuff," he said slowly. "You know, in case," he muttered. He snorted, and looked back at Chewie. "I was thinkin' of puttin' a rail up there, like that'd make it safe?" he snorted again. "Realized I don't know shit about intergalactic space travel with a kid." He frowned. "'Cause with just a rail, it'd kind of...roll around, huh?"

Chewbacca tilted his head back and forth. He nodded, but shrugged with nonchalance.

 _[You would learn those things,]_ he said dismissively. He lifted his head thoughtfully. _[You said Leia is not pregnant?]_ he asked. _[There is no need to rush, or panic.]_

"No," Han muttered, and then narrowed his eyes. "I'm not panickin'," he clarified tensely. "Just dunno what to do," he trailed off. "She had a lot of - ah - doubts about doin' this, and I want her to know I'm not messin' around, that I'm squared away, if she's still...nervous," he mumbled.

 _[Cub,]_ Chewbacca said seriously, _[it does not matter how prepared you are, it will go to hell immediately when you have young.]_

Han shrugged, nettled - that's what they said, wasn't it?

 _[I am not sure it is most efficient to show her that by nesting on the_ Falcon, _anyway,]_ Chewie advised. _[You don't live here.]_

"Look, I don't want her to feel pressured either, got it? We're s'pose to not think about it and just act like nothin's different," he said flatly. He ran his hands over his face, sighing gruffly. "'Cept it is kind of different, right?"

Chewbacca looked thoughtful.

[ _I do not know,]_ he said honestly. _[For Wookiees, there is not all the decision making you have,]_ he said simply. _[You mate, you have young - that is it.]_

Han snorted dryly.

"S'different," he muttered. "'Cause she's kind of worried about all the chemical torture from the Death Star, and I think she still worries about Vader," he shrugged harshly and trailed off, clearing his throat. "'M not in a rush, s'just that...she'd be upset if somethin' was wrong, and it'd be nice if we could just not have that problem," he said edgily.

In other words - impending parenthood, when it was a very real possibility, was a different horizon when he faced it now, than when he had faced it hypothetically, in past conversations, and he wasn't sure he wanted it to happen just like that, but at the same time - he shrugged to himself. He wanted Leia to have some relief from all that, because the rest of it, he figured they were pretty much on the same page about - just because he'd been more sure of wanting one than her didn't mean he wasn't nervous as hell. He didn't know a thing about being a father - just that not running off was a good place to start.

 _[Are you ready?]_ Chewbacca asked simply.

Han laughed.

"Fuck if I know," he said gruffly, sitting up straighter. "Hey, can't be that hard, right?" he drawled, flashing a smirk.

 _[It is hard.]_ Chewbacca said stoically.

Han gave him an annoyed look.

"Work with me," he muttered, and the Wookiee gave a laugh.

 _[It is a good indication that you can do it if you are already nest - ]_

"Will you cut that out?" interrupted Han loudly. "Stop callin' it nesting," he groused. He grumbled: "Sounds like somethin' women do."

 _[It is,]_ Chewbacca informed him.

Han scowled, and Chewbacca snorted smugly, pleased with the reaction.

 _[How is Leia?]_ he asked sincerely.

Han shrugged.

"She's good," he said. "She's a little, uh," Han broke off, and then glanced around warily, as if afraid she might hear him though she was nowhere near the ship. He leaned forward and whispered. "Uhh, moody," he said testily.

Chewbacca cocked his head dryly, waiting, and Han nodded fervently.

"Yeah, uh, it turns out, I've never been with Leia when she's not on some kind of permanent birth control," he explained warily. "So when it gets to that time of the month," he stopped talking and waved his hands vaguely, implying chaos. Chewbacca blinked a couple of times, lightly amused. "Coupla days ago, I reached over her head to get a mug for her, and she elbowed me and asked me why I was so patronizing and stormed out of the kitchen."

Chewbacca snorted.

 _[It is kind of patronizing to put mugs on shelves she can't reach,]_ he goaded.

Han glared.

"There will always be something on a shelf Leia can't reach," he growled.

 _[You could pick her up so she could reach it herself,]_ Chewbacca suggested smugly.

"Yeah, because I have a death wish," Han laughed shortly. He snorted, and then shrugged, a slightly alarmed smile touching his lips, and then fading affectionately. "She's just a little touchy, that's all. S'not just the cycles, probably. Probably a little stress."

 _[Probably,]_ Chewbacca agreed.

"Don't tell her I called her moody," Han said hastily.

Chewbacca smirked, but his silence was tacit agreement - he had no interest in sowing petty discord between the two of them; he was happy for them, and even happier to see his companion so settled and content in life - Malla would be thrilled to hear it, though Chewbacca would report nothing until Han said it was acceptable to do so - humans could be so secretive about these sorts of things.

 _[Is it a secret that you and Leia want a baby?]_ Chewbacca ventured.

"Wouldn't say that," Han said cautiously. "Haven't been tellin' people that's what we're up to," he added dryly. He frowned pointedly, narrowing his eyes. "I think Bail knows. Don't know how," he growled, "but last time I saw him he looked at me like he's seen me naked."

Chewbacca guffawed, bending forward to brace his hand on his knee.

Han leaned down and swept up the hydrospanners, smacking them into the palm of his hand. He looked back at the mess of wires distractedly, his brow furrowed in a concentrated frown. He had meant what he said to Chewbacca - he was obsessing over modifications and touch-ups to the _Falcon_ because he was wary of intimidating Leia with his apprehension, which he thought she'd see as excitement. It was, to an extent, but undefined excitement, because he had no concept of what it would really be like - he didn't know what he was supposed to be doing, so he was doing _things,_ and it was impossible to act like nothing was different, because there was a different nuance to everything - they were attempting to sort of plan something that definitely could not be planned, in the traditional sense.

It was enticingly serendipitous now - it was only that he was wary it would turn into another thing that was hard for Leia - and that, he knew, was some of what was weighing on both of them, just quietly, in the back of their minds; waiting to see if they were going to have a problem - or not.

* * *

The day Leia found out was uneventful – the _way_ she found out was uneventful. She had no glaring, traditional symptoms – certainly nothing as painfully cliché as what she had experienced when her old implant had malfunctioned – she woke up one morning feeling different; she felt hyperaware, as if her senses had somehow been amplified – she had felt _good,_ for lack of a better word, invigorated, and – there was nothing monumental leading up to it, really; she felt a wave of nausea over Tavska's perfume – never bothered her before – her nose was bothering her, as if she had a cold, and she'd had an irritable flare of mild cramps after lunch – which she had absently chalked up to an impending cycle, until she realized with a short jolt that she had already bled this month.

She had already bled, yes, but it was far too early for her to detect –

For normal human women to detect, she supposed; on a whim, she had abandoned her focus on her work, and pressed her fingertips lightly against her ribs, trailing them down to her lower abdomen – instinctively, she took a few calming moments to tap into her Force sensitivity, a quiet, quick meditation, and the response was simple _– something there._

Too early for a home kit, she thought, but not too early for innate power – and likely not _too_ early for a Med Centre blood test, but this time, she did not go careening off to her private physician without talking to Han – the discovery derailed her attention for the day, and when she did leave early – she went home.

She did some idle housekeeping – administrative things; she called her physician to arrange an appointment for the blood work, she went and stood quietly in their spare bedroom for a while, looking at the walls, she looked through the files she had been given to review for the Haven's Christening ceremony – and she tentatively thought ahead – how many months to the opening – ?

Would she be able to travel –? If, for some reason, there was another delay in the opening timeline, could the ceremony perhaps even be for – _her_ baby?

Hers and Han's –

Leia did not agonize over how to tell him; rather, she contemplated it quietly, a pleasant nervousness simmering in her chest – that was the beauty in having wanted this, there was no concern over how he might react, and she didn't feel petrified or detached.

She didn't feel any of those things, but she did feel what she thought was a natural, subtle wariness. She would start to think ahead a little too much, and get a tight, short-of-breath feeling tickling at her throat – _are we out of our minds?_ _Are we going to be ready in – what, forty weeks? Forty - !_

Minus two, or three – she had no certainty of exactly when it had happened, though wondering caused her to laugh a little wryly.

It was so early on –

There was a chance she was wrong, hence reaching out to a medic to confirm in the next few days, but this was one incident in which Leia felt comfortable listening to her instincts – and she couldn't imagine not telling Han immediately, she just wasn't quite sure of how. She didn't want to keep it from him, even if it was innocent, and only for a few days, she was – fascinated, she supposed, and her adrenaline was rushing.

Briefly, she scanned through holo references on Corellian tradition, and only came across one that appeared to be well-known – women throwing _parties,_ at which the entire guest list knew except for the father – and Leia rejected that idea immediately; she didn't want to ambush him in such a way, and she wasn't sure she was ready to share with anyone _but_ him – certainly not _this_ early.

She knew, and intended to follow, certain of her own culture's traditions, but those pertained more to telling her family, not him, and a quick search of ideas revealed to her a grandiose world of expensive, self-aggrandizing methods that nearly gave her a headache.

She took her ruminations to a long, hot bubble bath, luxuriating in the water and eventually coming to the obvious conclusion that she just wanted to tell him – without bells and whistles, pomp and circumstance – it was only important to her that she saw his face –

\- and she needed it to be quiet, because this was – unexpectedly immediate; she had thought she would have problems, or that it at least would take a while, and regardless of what they had decided, he might feel a little winded at how quickly it had happened.

She'd personally understand that – and she did not want him handling it, if he had to, with any audience but herself.

She did endeavor to make herself look nice, though she was sure it would be a memorable moment regardless; after her bath – which went on much longer than intended; she nearly fell asleep in the soothing water – she put on a comfortable, lace detailed petal pink bralette, a pair of matching panties, and a buttery soft red robe, neatly arranging her hair as well – dried until it was soft as cotton, braided in a very purposeful mess over one shoulder.

She studied herself in the mirror, tilting her head – she didn't _look_ different; she didn't particularly feel different – she had heard Han come home half an hour ago, but he hadn't come in, and he hadn't started cooking, which was a little odd.

She was intensely curious to see Han's reaction – in fact she stopped internally planning out a commentary, and reached out to shut off the 'fresher lights, stepping out into the cooler air and venturing out to look for him.

She found him – sort of facedown on the sofa, his legs oddly angled so that his dirty boots weren't on the cushions – considerate of him. Folding her arms loosely, Leia tilted her head, amused – his jacket was on the floor, and he appeared to be – asleep.

She laughed quietly, and Han jumped, turning his head, blinking – he rolled onto his side, saw her, and then looked a little sheepish; he sat up slowly, rubbing at his shoulder, and as he did, Leia noticed the soot on his left temple, and an inflamed scrape – he smelled vaguely smoky.

Furrowing her brow, she came forward, placing her hands on his shoulders and pulling him back towards the couch, until his shoulders rested against her chest. She sucked in her breath and waved her fingers over the wound, examining it closely – fresh, but not severe.

Han flinched away, even though she didn't touch, a movement that warned her it was tender. He made a face, and shrugged his shoulders.

"S'nothin,'" he grumbled. "War games," he grunted in explanation.

"More?" Leia murmured.

"Uhh-huhh," Han snorted. "Carlist keeps sayin' he doesn't miss all the fighting, but he coulda fooled me," he joked. "Did some burning engine drills," he elaborated. "Scraped my head against some charred ship parts tryin' to douse the electrical fire."

Leia clicked her tongue softly. It was a minor injury – and rather routine; Han usually had some scrapes or bruises on him after war games – even after just working on the _Falcon_ , but Leia stared at the injury for a moment, and her eyes started to sting.

"Han," she said, startling herself when her voice cracked. "You have to be careful."

He shifted, leaning over to turn a little, and gave her a funny look.

"S'just a scrape, Leia," he said easily. He arched a brow, and gave her a wry look. "You havin' a day?" he asked suspiciously – that was the metaphor he'd come up with lately to describe it if she was being alarmingly hormonal, and Leia snorted a little, turning up her nose at the question.

"You haven't seen anything yet," she retorted, pointedly, running her fingers through his hair.

She pulled away from him, mumbling under her breath about bacta, and went back to the 'fresher to fetch the minor med kit for him. She took it to him, and he mumbled thanks, leaning forward a bit to pick through it. She watched him unfold a bacta-infused gauze pad and rub it against the injury, muttering a swear as he went about cleaning it – and she left him again and went into the kitchen, where she poured a glass of whiskey – the expensive stuff, and tightened the neat bow holding her robe closed.

She returned to stand behind the couch again, first resting her wrists on his shoulders, and then leaning down to press a kiss to the cleaned injury, and a kiss to his jaw, and neck – she nudged his arm with the glass, handing it to him, and ran her other hand over his chest affectionately.

Han tilted his head back, resting it on her shoulder with roguish, but interested, look.

"Really is just a scrape," he drawled. "What'd I do to get the spa treatment?"

Leia grinned against his temple, and drew back, waiting until he took the whiskey to straighten up, consider him for a moment, and make her way around the sofa. She sat down next to him, and picked up another bacta pad.

"Drink," she encouraged, finishing cleaning up the scrape – it looked much less threatening with all the grime wiped away, and Leia judged it to be so minor, her reaction to it was laughable, but she supposed she would experience a lot of irrational worry over him for the next few months.

Irrational if it was over scrapes like these – not irrational in the grand scheme, because though Leia had conquered her persistent, panicky fear of losing Han ages ago, a flicker of it was back, for the moment.

"Drink?" Han muttered. "Why?"

"When have you ever asked me to justify a drink?" Leia teased softly, leaning over to set all the bacta aside.

She brushed her fingers over the skin gently, and Han winced, raising the glass to his lips.

"Ain't every day you wait on me," he pointed out charmingly, and Leia smiled around her wrist.

"It's a toast," she said.

"To what?" Han retorted.

"You," Leia answered simply.

He smirked.

"What'd I do?" he asked. "Or's it just 'cause I'm the man of your dreams?" he flirted, and Leia rolled her eyes good-naturedly, leaning her elbow on the back of the sofa and looking at him.

She flicked her eyes at the glass, and his lips, insistently, and Han cocked an eyebrow at her, raising it in exaggeration as if he was humoring her. Leia waited until the whiskey touched his mouth.

"It's a toast," she murmured simply, "to you being a father."

Han pulled the glass away from his mouth quickly, turning towards her sharply. She watched him very deliberately swallow, reaching out to rest the glass firmly on his knee, and he tilted his hear towards her.

"What?" he asked. "I am?"

He leaned a little closer, studying her, his lips parted in anticipation.

"I am, Leia?" he repeated.

She gave a small nod, fidgeting with the tie of her robe.

"I'm pregnant."

Han lunged to the side and set the glass of whiskey on the table, preserving it from any possible spills. He sat forward on the edge of the sofa, staring at her, reaching up to rub his hand over his mouth.

Leia looked back at him calmly, her lips compressed, then parted, her heart stuttering against her ribs – he just stared at her, as if he couldn't quite get his head around it, and then he lowered his hand and started beckoning to her.

"C'mere," he said gruffly. "C'mere – you are?" he asked in her ear, when she moved forward to meet his hug with her own.

She nodded, her head tucked against his shoulder, and Han took a deep breath, burying his nose in her hair for a moment. He kissed her temple, and tightened his hug, and then loosened it with a start, drawing back a little.

"It won't hurt me," Leia assured him with a quiet laugh, stroking the hair at the nape of his neck.

Han grinned. He leaned forward and kissed her full on the lips, cradling her cheek in his palm gently, and then he broke away, laughed, and reached for the glass of whiskey. He downed the rest of it, then leaned back and relaxed, giving another hoarse, disbelieving laugh.

"Yeah," he said, almost to himself. "You sure? When did you find out?"

"Today," Leia answered calmly. "I left the office a little early and came home to let it…sink in."

"Thought you were home," Han said rapidly. "Was waitin' for you to get out of the 'fresher," he gestured at himself, indicating he needed one. He tilted his head up, searching her face eagerly. "You took a test?"

Leia shook her head slowly.

"No," she said. "I did schedule blood work with my doctor."

"How d'you know, then?"

"I just know," Leia murmured.

"How can you be sure?" Han asked, his expression quizzical.

"I just am," she answered cryptically.

Han considered her for a moment, and then nodded, seeming to accept that – she'd know better than he would, that was for damn sure. He took a deep breath, crossing his arms and reaching up to rub his jaw thoughtfully. He looked at her intently, and shifted closer.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

Leia curled her legs up under her on the sofa, leaning against the back of it with her elbow propped on the cushions. She brushed her fingers against her lips, and then rested her head on her palm, holding his gaze confidently.

She nodded.

"Yeah," she murmured softly. "Yeah, I am. I'm happy," she said honestly, with a small shrug.

"Not like last time?" Han asked hesitantly.

"There wasn't really a last time," Leia noted.

He gave her a look, and she smiled, resigned, her lashes fluttering.

"Not like last time," she agreed. She brushed some strands of hair from her face and took a deep breath, tilting her head back and forth and sighing. She drew her lower lip into her mouth tensely, contemplating her emotions, and then she lowered her arm and pressed her hand against her chest, pushing her fingertips into the hem of her robe.

"Han, I'm, I'm _very_ happy," she said huskily. "I have, um," she faltered, tapping her collarbone. "I have – kind of a lingering – bad feeling," she confessed.

She did – it wasn't anything dreadful, nothing that made her want to reject this whole experience, just something vaguely ominous in the back of her mind, as if she were forgetting to remember something. She took another deep breath and looked at him searchingly.

"I think its just nerves," she whispered. "This happened…very fast."

Han nodded, tilting his head back lazily.

"S'what I thought," he muttered. "It kinda did – weren't we thinkin' it'd be like…half a year?"

"I don't know," Leia said, with a soft laugh. "I was so sure it wouldn't happen – it took so much to get my blood chemistry back to normal after the Death Star, who knows what else it did," she trailed off.

Han rolled his head back and forth a little, and unfolded his arms, lifting his arm up to rest it along the back of the sofa. He curved his wrist in and stroked the back of her shoulder. Leia cleared her throat, leaning into that touch a little, and reaching out to press her palm to his thigh.

"You?" she ventured.

He had told her at Varykino that when she'd thought she was pregnant early last year, he'd been pretty damn shaken up, he just hadn't admitted to it for her sake – and if he had listened to her as well as she'd hoped during one of their heart-to-hearts while there on Naboo, he'd know she'd rather he confess –

"Uhh," Han said, his eyes a little wide, clearing his throat. He looked over at her. "It's a little, uh, y'know, nervous is probably a good word – it's a little more…nervous…ing – "

"Nerve-wracking," Leia supplied in an amused whisper.

"Yup, that – when it's real, and not…in theory," Han drawled casually, his eyes traveling down to her abdomen. He looked back up at her sharply. "You really…just know?"

"Yes," Leia answered. She cocked her head to the side. "Is the real world you're looking for terrifying?" she teased softly.

Han blinked stubbornly.

"Maybe."

She leaned forward and took his face in her hands, her thumbs drawing circles in the divots behind his ears, her heart beating nervously in her chest again. She swallowed hard, nodding earnestly.

"Me too," she confided.

Han started laughing. He swung his arm off the couch, and around her waist, pulling her close. Leia grinned, and twisted in his grip, throwing her leg over his lap and straddling him. She placed her hands on his neck, then his shoulders, and bit her lip, tilting her head at him.

He arched his brows.

"What's it feel like?" he asked.

"Nothing, yet," she murmured. "I know it's there, that's all."

Han narrowed his eyes.

"That mean Luke can tell?" he demanded. "Would _Luke_ know before me?"

She laughed, and shook her head.

"I don't think so. He's not _that_ in tune with me."

She bit her lip, and her smile faded a little – Luke had been off planet for a while, as it were, and she wasn't on the best terms with him – fighting was not the right word, but – harboring tensions was one. She missed him, though – she missed him right now.

"Hmpf," Han grumbled.

He considered her abdomen for a moment, and then furrowed his brow again.

"So…when?"

She sighed quietly.

"I'll know more after I speak with physician," she said.

She considered him a moment, and then smiled a little wickedly, lowering her lashes demurely.

"You have to tell Father," she told him smoothly.

Han looked at her wordlessly for a moment, his expression mild. Then, all at once, he blinked at her, leaned back, and pointed a finger at his chest in disbelief, staring at her as if he had just been betrayed.

" _Me_?" he asked gruffly, narrowly avoiding a very un-masculine squawk. " _What_?" his tone pitched into a whine that seemed a bit - panicky.

Fighting the urge to start laughing again, Leia furrowed her brow a little, pursing her lips in mild amusement:

"I don't see why you're so appalled at the idea," she murmured, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

Han leaned away from her suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

"Why do I have to – _me?_ " he repeated, stubbornly ignoring her.

Leia did laugh quietly, settling back on his knees a little. She pursed her lips, letting her hands slide down his chest.

"It's tradition," she murmured, her hands falling to the hem of her robe. She smoothed her fingers over it, adjusting it and readjusting it over her legs. She looked down, and then back up at him with more gravity, and though he still glared at her warily, he was clearly listening.

She compressed her lips.

"The new father tells the old father," she said simply.

Han frowned.

"How the hell am I supposed to have that conversation?" he asked incredulously. "'Hey, Bail, remember how I constantly have sex with your only daughter – '"

"For Sith's sake, Han, there's no need to start like that," Leia snorted.

"That's what it's gonna sound like," Han muttered.

"Not if you act like an adult man," Leia retorted primly.

"Only if he does," Han fired back, and she leaned forward to touch his face again, drawing her index finger over his lip.

"Han," she coaxed. "It's important to me."

She was missing out on telling her mother, and that tugged at her heart a little more than she had expected – and Han sensed that, she thought; he gave her a firm nod.

"Yeah, I get it," he said, resting his hands on her hips. "So I just…tell 'im?"

"You take him for dinner," Leia instructed. "Or – whiskey – "

"I gotta take him on a date?" Han interrupted, feigning shock. "I don't have anything to wear!" he joked.

Leia gave him a look, and he grinned at her charmingly.

"It won't be difficult," Leia said honestly. "He'll know what's going on."

Han furrowed his brow.

"How?"

"Well, forgetting for a moment that you have never taken it upon yourself to ask my father to have a drink with you in a formal way, he's Alderaanian," she reminded him. "He understands the tradition. He'll _know_."

Han nodded. He mumbled acquiescence, and then frowned to himself.

"You don't wanna tell 'im right away…?" he started.

Leia pursed her lips, apprehension tugging at her for a moment. She shook her head.

"No," she murmured. "No, it's early, and I," she paused. She reached up and touched the scrap on his temple, looking at it thoughtfully before switching her eyes back to his. "I'd like to keep this between us, for a little while."

Han nodded fervently, relieved – he was sure that, like him, she wanted some time to adjust to the concept with each other, before they shared. He looked at her a moment longer, and then pulled her close, pressing his head into her shoulder. She rested her chin on his head, and he breathed her in, feeling invigorated, and safe, at the same time.

He felt her take a deep breath, and pulled back to look at her, admiring the sight – she gave him another genuine, nervous smile, and he reached up to pull at the tie at the end of her braid, starting to loosen the strands – she cupped his jaw in her hand, and leaned forward to kiss him while he unbraided, pressing herself close to him – though she didn't think there was any way she could possibly be closer to him, after this.

* * *

 _\- alexandra_

 _story #360._


	3. Two

a/n: chapter two, you!

* * *

 _Two_

 _7 ABY_

* * *

It was towards the end of a work week when Han swung by his father-in-law's office to tell him they would be having dinner - _dinner or somethin_ ', as he phrased it - later; it _was_ the end of the work week when the actual event was to take place. Han - increasingly nervous, for some unidentifiable reason - whined to Leia that it felt too much like a date, at which she only rolled her eyes and retorted that it was no different then all the times he had met up with Luke or Wedge or Lando at some dive bar and drank himself under the Sabacc table - _You were perfectly capable of making plans with them and retaining your manhood,_ she quipped, while Han grumbled a protest at her - _Yeah, but this is diff'r'nt, it's all formal, like askin' a woman out_ \- Leia laughed at him goodnaturedly - _Then in your case it isn't formal at all; why don't you scream at him in a public hallway...?_

He scowled at her - _accurate_ \- barbs, but did the deed, because it was important to her, and she'd asked him to, and he was slightly tired of having to bite his tongue about the whole affair anyway - Leia's allusion to his wilder days with the Rogues did give him an idea, though, a way to both amuse himself - which would relieve some of the persistent anxiety that kept tugging at him over the idea of telling Bail - and antagonize the Viceroy, which was one of Han's favorite pastimes.

He'd been casual about telling Bail he wanted to see him over dinner - and Leia was right; her father had immediately looked at him sharply, narrowing his eyes with alertness - _Dinner? Without Leia present? -_ he had asked intently. _Don't get excited, 'M not comin' on to you_ , Han quipped, and Bail gave him a withering look for a moment, still preoccupied with the invite as a whole - _I'm to understand Leia will not be with us?_ \- _That's what I said, ain't it? -_ Han's response was a little tense, but Bail sat back, fighting a grin. He shrugged - _You've never taken it upon yourself to have dinner with me - sans Leia - before,_ he pointed out. At which Han shrugged, and gave him an unreadable look, his arm braced against the Viceroy's office wall - _Huh, I haven't?_ \- he muttered, feigning ignorance - _somethin' must be up then, eh?_ He left it at that - left Bail giving him a somewhat smug, knowing look that nettled Han - not because he cared if Bail knew, because the whole damn point here was to tell Bail, and he figured he and Leia were sort of looking forward to telling people - no, the look bothered Han because he did not like being _predictable,_ and so when he took one of his and Leia's sleek personal speeders out to retrieve Bail on the established time and date, he had already decided he was going to have some fun with him first.

Departing the Embassy Residence, he diverted them away from the swankier, elite establishments in the posh levels of Coruscant, and dragged his father-in-law to an old haunt of his - brought to the forefront of his memory by Leia's casual teasing about the sorts of places he used to run while on liberty with fellow smugglers and soldiers. He took a considerable amount of pleasure in subtly watching Bail's expression become more and more wary at the sites around him, culminating in his mouth actually hanging open slightly when Han effortlessly guided the speeder into a rickety docking garage and hopped out casually.

He gave Bail a friendly whack on the shoulder.

"What're you waitin' for?" he asked blithely. "C'mon, place fills up fast," he urged.

Bail's head swiveled around as he stood in the speeder, eyeing the locale warily.

"Your speeder is going to be stolen immediately," he decided suspiciously.

"Nah, it won't," Han retorted breezily. "This is a smuggler's hub, not a thief's den," he said, as if that made it entirely safe.

Bail gave him one of his withering, lofty looks, and climbed out of the speeder, his feet hitting the ground roughly. Han looked down at the Viceroy's tanned leather boots, and gave a thoughtful nod.

"Those shoes, though, they might get snatched," he joked, and beckoned cheerfully. "Don't worry 'bout that speeder, Bail," he said again. "It's got an anti-theft beacon. It's alarmed."

"Can't your people disarm that sort of thing?" Bail groused.

"My people? _My_ \- you mean Corellians? Handsome devils? Kings of - "

"I mean criminals," Bail interrupted loudly.

"Aw, Dad, I thought we were past that," Han retorted. "I'm a _reformed_ criminal. So's Leia."

"Leia was never, in her life, a criminal."

"You hang on to your delusions, Viceroy."

Bail glared at him, and Han shook his head.

"I mean it, that speeder ain't gettin' touched, no one here's that stupid," he said roughly. "They'd be askin' for trouble if I was still just Han Solo. Stakes're higher now."

"Because now you are _General_ Han Solo?" Bail asked, catching up to fall into step beside Han and give his surroundings damning, piercing glares.

"No," Han muttered, half-serious, "'cause I'm Mr. Princess Leia."

At that, Bail laughed, forgetting for a moment that his surroundings were making him wish he had a palace guard security detail - a thing he had considered tedious, and usually worth ditching, back when he had first married Breha, and moved to Coruscant. He ducked into the bar Han had brought him to thinking - to borrow a phrase from Obi-Wan Kenobi's colourful lexicon - that it was a hive of villainy and scum in which he was likely to be murdered or robbed - at best. Han seemed thoroughly unconcerned - though Han often seemed that way, and Bail was usually unable to determine when Han was actually nonchalant about something, and when he was presenting a front to hide the fact that he was losing his mind.

Han breezed through the throng of people inside straight for a dimly lit booth in the back near the bar, situating himself in the chipped seats comfortably, and though he did look comfortable there - aware of himself, capable of defending himself, and street smart - Bail noted that he didn't quite seem to belong there, not like he might have back in his younger days. He wondered if Han was aware of that - and Han pointed sharply at a seat, giving Bail an incredulous look.

"Will you sit down? You're makin' yourself stand out," he snorted.

Bail sat, leaning forward on the table and folding his hands instinctively. Han reached over and shook them apart, rolling his eyes. He gave the Viceroy a look, and leaned back, slouching his shoulders and indicating how one usually sat in establishments such as these - Bail stared at him, and Han smirked.

"Have you ever done anything indecent?" he demanded.

Bail gave him a cool look.

"I kidnapped Darth Vader's baby," he fired back.

Han laughed, taken aback by the quick response, but amused.

"Good start," he said bluntly. "Now try slouching."

Bail slouched back a little, but gave Han a sarcastic look.

"Why is this the locale you chose if I am so unsuitable for it?" he asked.

"Try again," Han said dryly.

Bail arched a brow.

"Why did you bring me here?" he amended.

"Better," Han said, with a short nod. He gave him a lopsided grin. "'Cause you're gonna need a drink," he announced simply, lifting his hand with three fingers raised, and the thumb tucked towards the ring finger - a gesture which apparently called for a server, as a waitress materialized out of nowhere, scantily clad in something that could only loosely be called clothing.

While Bail stared out of the corner of his eye, trying to discern just - what - exactly he was looking at, so he could determine if he was offended or not - Han ordered drinks, though did not place a request for any sort of menu - and set the female on her way, clearing his throat for Bail's attention when she was gone.

"Y'okay there?"

"Did you see what that woman was wearing?" Bail demanded.

"No," Han retorted, deadpan. "I'm married. I don't look at other women."

Bail arched a brow, and Han shrugged, leaving the Viceroy to wonder for a moment if that was, indeed, the truth, or if Han was giving him a hard time - he squinted his eyes suspiciously, and Han shrugged at him.

"If you're saying that to impress me, there's no harm in looking," Bail said flatly. "I didn't go blind when I got married."

"I don't want to," Han said. He waved his hand vaguely. "She's workin', anyway, y'don't hassle girls while they're working - unless it's _that_ kind of working," he said flippantly, and then pointed at Bail with a sly grin. "Don't go gettin' any ideas, Viceroy, I can get you a girl somewhere else."

Bail shook his head, consternated, turning his head when the drinks returned quickly and were left in front of them. Han moved so quickly Bail almost didn't see it, but in a flash he had flicked his credit reader over to the woman, and sent her off with the payment.

"Are we not staying?" Bail asked cautiously.

Han said nothing, and Bail looked at him in curious exasperation, frowning a little. He sat forward and curved his palm around whatever Han had ordered - a whiskey-brewed ale, by the look and smell of it - waiting impatiently. After prolonged silence, he cleared his throat and glared at Han more intently.

"What the hell are we doing here, Han?"

"Told ya, you're gonna need a drink," Han answered breezily.

He sat forward, drawing his own glass towards him by splaying his palm over the open face of it and gripping it at the edges. His shoulders tucked in, he flashed a smirk, and then cleared his throat, feigning solemnity - he knew - exactly what he was here for, but he figured he'd managed to throw Bail off at least a little - if the way Bail's knowing smirk had disappeared on the ride here revealed anything.

Han looked across the table at Bail, his expression unreadable - hesitating for a moment only because he was struck again with an unexpected anxious itch, something that had been clawing at him specifically concerning telling Bail about the baby - it felt final, so real, and tangential to that, for some absurd reason, Han kept getting the sneaking - irrational - fear that Bail was not going to be happy with him, that for some reason, despite having come around to Han marrying his daughter, the Viceroy would take offense to him having a baby with her -

But Han knew that was ludicrous, and he chalked it up to nerves connected to impending fatherhood as a whole, the same way Leia chalked her lurking sense of wariness up to hormones and personal worries - after all, everything was fine; her physician had told her everything was fine, that was why she wanted to at least start telling those closest to her.

"Why do I need this drink?" Bail asked boldly, setting his glass aside after tasting it.

Han nodded, taking a sip of his, and then setting it down. He reached up to rub his jaw, composing himself for the short prank he intended to play - if for no other reason than he needed to loosen himself up a little bit -

"Yeah, uh," he started, his brow furrowing seriously. "So I've got to talk to you, and Leia told me it works like this," he waved his hand, "it's got to work like this."

Bail straightened up, suddenly alert. He leaned forward a little, clearly compressing a grin. Han pretended not to notice, and looked intently into his drink as if finding the right words. He held out his hand, and then shrugged as if to indicate he was just going to go with it -

"Leia and I, we're gonna add a third person to our marriage," he began slowly. "She figured you'd - well, uh, it's not conventional, and we wanted to tell you before the press gets a hold of it - "

"Han," Bail interrupted, a smile breaking over his face. "I thought that might be what you wanted, I," he paused, his head twitching suddenly, as if he'd just processed the rest. "I - wait, what isn't conventional?" he asked, his voice sharpening.

Han continued to look at him, deadpan, his jaw set.

"Well, s'not for Alderaan, she says, I guess it's more common on Iridonia or Christophsis," Han drawled. "We've been - "

"You're - talking about adoption?" Bail ventured faintly - _that must be it, Han, or so help me -_

Han feigned a very confused look.

"That'd be kind of perverted," he said seriously.

Bail leaned forward, his face red, and glanced from side to side, grabbing the table and narrowing his eyes at Han.

"A third - _you cannot possibly be talking about polygamy,"_ he hissed dangerously.

"Polygamy?" Han repeated loudly, and Bail turned pale, looking around in alarm - the place was too loud, and self-absorbed, for anyone to be paying attention - and for a split second, Bail did marvel at the fact that no one seemed to give a damn that two rather famous men were sitting in their midst. "That's goin' a bit far," Han continued brazenly, "we're only lookin' at _one_ other person."

He leaned back, waiting, watching Bail have a silent fit across the table from him - and Han ordered himself not to grin, continuing to maintain a serious, set expression.

"Yeah," he said heavily, "so we've been vettin' suitable people, and," he paused pointedly, as the waitress returned with his credit reader, and handed it off to him - Han tucked it in his vest pocket, "we think we might be close to pickin' one, so she wanted me to tell you - break the news easy," he continued.

Bail continued to stare at him, his face flashing different colours, his eyes narrowing, and then widening, and finally he seemed to settle on an appropriate reaction, which in Bail's mind was a heavily diplomatic one - in other words, he decided to use all of his self control to pretend he was entirely unperturbed by this development - which he was positive had to be some infernal joke - and throw Han off whatever game he was playing.

"You see why I'd bring some place like here," Han was saying soberly, "so you don't make a scene - "

"Will you be adding a male or a female to your union?" Bail interrupted stiffly. "Human?"

Han looked marginally taken aback, and gave Bail a suspicious squint. He took a moment to figure out what would likely scandalize his father-in-law more, and decided - male, definitely _male;_ the Viceroy already grumbled constantly about the one, single man his daughter was married to, multiple would send him into cardiac arrest.

"She wants a guy," Han answered flatly.

He looked at Bail stubbornly, his expression unwavering, while Bail looked back, both of them waiting for the other to break. Bail clenched his teeth - he was almost positive Han was messing with him, that this was a jest; he couldn't imagine Leia agreeing to such a thing - and frankly, considering how enamored he usually seemed of Leia, Bail had a hard time believing _Han_ was amenable to sharing. Yet - both of them, Han and Leia, had a penchant for doing unfathomable things, and there was a sliver of a chance - but no, no -

Han ticked up an eyebrow, wondering what exactly was going through the other man's head, and as he lazily took his time piecing together what he was going to say next, Bail folded his arms coolly and lifted his chin, narrowing his eyes.

"Well," he said crisply. "That is the more acceptable sex, I suppose."

Han was half-absorbed in his next ludicrous statement, so the comment did not register immediately - when it did, he sat back with a comical expression on his face, his head cocked to the side. He stared at Bail for a moment, and then a crooked grin broke out over his face, and he started to laugh gruffly, nodding his head at Bail's drink.

"Yeah, alright," he drawled hastily, snorting. "'M jerkin' you around, Bail," he said dryly.

Despite the fact that he had been - mostly - certain of that, Bail visibly relaxed, and reached for his drink gladly. As he was glaring - and taking a much-needed drink - Han sat forward abruptly, his grin fading intently.

"Hang on," he protested, " _Hang on -_ what'd you mean, that's more acceptable?" he demanded. "You're sayin' if Leia and I _really_ wanted to be polygamists, it'd only be okay with you if it was another _man_?"

Bail mustered a shrug, and glared at Han stubbornly.

"Yes."

Han stared at him in disbelief.

"But it was like pullin' teeth to get you to accept me, and I'm only one!"

Bail folded his arms.

"Yes, and she should be enough woman for you," he fired back sternly, narrowing his eyes for good measure.

Han considered him for a moment, a dry look on his face, and then sat back, shrugging lightly.

"Huh, okay," he said. "Fair 'nuff,."

In fact, he grinned, 'cause he figured it made sense for Bail to think that way. He'd probably think that way about his own daughter, wouldn't he? Want whoever loved her to give her all of their attention? Or - no, he'd want men to stay away from her...right? In a split second, Han went to smirking at Bail with his usual roguishness, to giving him a somewhat slack-jawed, distracted look. What _if_ he had a daughter - and then everything Bail had ever done for Leia seemed obvious and logical - did he _want_ a daughter? She'd be like Leia, probably - and Leia was incredible - but Leia also got hurt a lot - well, maybe they'd better hope for a boy, then, except when _he'd_ been a kid, he'd put himself through the wringer, and he still remembered his mother crying over some near death experience he endured, and he didn't want Leia going through _that_ , either -

Han's thoughts scuttled around wildly, and Bail raised an eyebrow at him.

"Looks like you're the one who needs a drink now," he pointed out, tilting his head.

Han blinked a few times, and then cleared his throat. He jerked his head to the left roughly.

"C'mon," he muttered. He gestured around with a half-smile. "This was part of the scam, I ain't really gonna make you sit here," he snorted.

Bail tried not to look too relieved, and scrambled - gracefully scrambled - out of his seat to follow Han. On their way out, Han acknowledged a tough-looking pair of females at a card game near the back, by touching his thumb to his forehead with a short nod. Bail tilted his head curiously, wary of asking, but Han filled him in anyway -

"Couple of smugglers I used to run spice with," he grunted. "The one with the green streak in her hair, missin' the eye? She was booted from the Academy, too. Imps gave her a position in the Intelligence Unit, then told her she had to sleep with marks for information. She refused," Han said, "they martialed her for insubordination - she spent the next few years blackmailing Imperial instructors with their spice addictions."

Stepping out of the place with Han, Bail looked interested, and fascinated.

"Did the Empire take her eye?"

"Huh? Oh, nah - the Black Sun syndicate cut that out when she freed some of their slaves," Han muttered.

Bail tilted his head, stopping next to Han at the speeder.

"Despite everything, I don't know much about your past, or your people," he reflected, emphasizing the world wryly. "Were all of them like that? Smugglers you knew?"

"Like what?"

"Closet revolutionaries," Bail supplied.

Han snorted.

"No," he said darkly. He shrugged. "But most of 'em ain't criminals for the sake of breakin' the law, if that makes any sense to you."

Bail tilted his head back and forth - it did, more so now than it would have back at the height of his Old Republic power, perhaps. He had a better eye for acknowledging his own privilege than he used to, and part of that was realizing he was able to exercise such morality because for all of his life, he'd had the wealth and security to do so.

"Han," he began, and Han pointed at the speeder.

"You want to get back up to the levels where we can see daylight first?" he asked, and Bail closed his mouth, deciding that was best.

Han smirked a little, and fired up the speeder, expertly directing them back up to - as Bail would call it - the civilized sectors of Coruscant, at least insofar as Coruscant could be civilized, being a teeming city planet. He redirected them to the places more familiar to Bail's palate, wracking his brains for a good place to go - he hadn't thought it through too much; for most things, that wasn't his style - though he had taken to thinking things through, almost meticulously, when it came to Leia. He sure as hell hadn't made a reservation - but then again, he'd grown almost shamefully used to the way his name and power, relative to Leia's, precluded wait times at most places. He took a swift turn towards the casual quarter - fine dining, but without requiring fine clothing - and found a spot at a port near a quiet restaurant, killing the engine almost hesitantly.

He tilted his head, brow furrowed. He paused, then swung out of the speeder, followed slowly by Bail.

"You think they're gonna gossip about me'n'you eatin' dinner together?" he asked dryly, and Bail caught his elbow, stopping him at the speeder.

"Only the Alderaanians," he said firmly. "And as you know, we abhor most gossip," he said, studying Han. "Will you tell me what this is all about, really?" Bail asked simply, his expression patient.

Han turned back towards him and leaned against the speeder. He reached up to rub his jaw, and then crossed his arms, and his ankles, tilting his head up. He nodded.

"You know, don't you?" he ventured. "Leia said you'd know."

"I have an idea," Bail said earnestly. "Leia mentioned cutting back on caffeine, and I wondered," he trailed off, as Han was nodding slowly.

There was a moment of silence, as Han felt - weighed down, though not in a negative way - with the responsibility of being the person who got to deliver this news to Leia's father. He felt almost as if he was taking something away from her, even though she'd asked him to do this; after all, Leia wasn't able to tell her mother - shouldn't she get this privilege? He also felt nervous again - for several weeks, this had been something that was just between him and Leia, and even between them it was something in the back of their minds, a thing that was blooming, not yet at the forefront.

Until earlier this week, when she'd had a second round of blood work and a second examination that seemed to really reassure her -

Han nodded again.

"Yeah," he said. "Ah, yeah, so I wasn't kiddin' about the third person," he said gruffly. "Leia's going to have a baby."

Bail beamed at him, the expectant look on his face morphing into an expression of delight. He reached out to clap Han on the shoulder firmly, and put out his hand. Han unfolded his arms to accept the shake, and when he grasped Bail's palm, the Viceroy pulled him into a casual, quick hug, the grin never leaving his face. He drew back, still squeezing Han's hand proudly, and gave an encouraging nod.

"I thought so," he said. "I knew it," he added smugly, letting go of Han's hand and stepping back.

He folded his hands into the sleeves of his robes and took a deep breath, clearly satisfied with the way the conversation had gone. He gave Han a mildly reproachful look.

"You had a well played trick there," he allowed.

Han snorted dryly.

"Thought it'd be memorable," he drawled.

Bail gave a small laugh.

"Sentimental," he said wryly. Arching a brow, he leaned against the speeder next to Han, tilting his head at him intently. "How is she?" he asked. He paused. "I know she was...undecided."

Han nodded, uncross his ankles and scuffing his foot.

"Mm-hmm," he mumbled. "We been talkin' for a while, and she started lookin' at it differently," he said vaguely, and then shrugged. "And...it didn't really take that long," he offered.

Bail looked relieved.

"She was worried about that, yes?"

Han nodded again.

"She's good, Bail," he said honestly, answering the more important question. "She hasn't been sick, not much. Some headaches. She's tired," he listed off quietly. "She's nervous," he allowed, "but she's happy. We're happy."

Bail nodded.

"She hasn't been sick," he repeated. "Good, I'm glad to hear - Breha was," he paused, shaking his head, "so sick, always so sick," he murmured.

"What about Padme?" Han asked.

Bail looked thoughtful.

"I don't know. I suppose not. She was able to hide it well enough, early on. It can't have been too bad."

"It's still early," Han said. "Leia says," he added. "She found out earlier'n most."

Bail did not ask how, and Han was glad, because he didn't know what to tell him - Leia had simply insisted she was sure, and damned if she wasn't right. He never doubted her, but he did wonder what that was like for her - and her physician had been surprised, too, when she confirmed the pregnancy; she asked Leia to tell her what had alerted her, and Leia gave the same quiet response - _I just knew._

"How far along is she?" Bail asked.

Han shifted, leaning back against the speeder again.

"Almost ten weeks," he said slowly. She'd had her second appointment earlier this week, but it hadn't been anything major - Leia _wanted_ the available tests done, but they weren't done until later on in the term, for safety reasons. So far she had only had two appointments - one to run an initial test and outline a projected timeline, and more recently for her first 'routine' appointment.

Bail nodded, his brows lifting.

"Found out eight weeks ago," Han added.

Bail swiveled to look at him in shock.

" _What_?"

Han laughed hoarsely.

"Yeah, that's what the medic said." Han tapped his temple. "Women's intuition, I guess," he drawled.

Bail looked skeptical - he doubted that, and he was sure Han thought exactly the same thing he did; it likely had something to do with Leia's Force sensitivity, whether she consciously used it or not. He was quiet a moment longer, and then turned, facing Han intently.

"What about you?" he asked, interested. "Nervous?"

Han didn't look at him immediately. He stared in front of him, one brow cocking up, and tilted his head to the side, focused on nothing in particular. He swallowed hard, steadying himself - he was, but he was in a good place about it. Leia was healthy - Leia seemed to be handling herself just fine - and so with that stress gone, he had only his own normal worries about what was to come. He finally turned to look at Bail and shrugged a little.

"Yeah," he said honestly. His lips turned up in a resign smirk, but he didn't feel weakness over the admission - if anything, he figured Bail knew exactly how it felt, and as it turned out, he was pretty damn glad about that - if they hadn't pulled Bail out of Alderaan's wreckage, he and Leia would be alone with this, and while he was sure they could handle anything after what they'd been through, it was a relief to have someone around who had raised a child before - Bail, he realized, was the only human in their circle who fit that bill.

Han narrowed his eyes.

"You want me to buy you that dinner now?" he asked.

Bail snorted.

"You'll be pleased to know that in this tradition, I purchase _you_ dinner," he retorted. "In honor of how expensive children are - as it were," he said, as Han gave him a smirk, "I'd much rather procure some carry out and see Leia, if that would be alright," he said earnestly.

Han shrugged.

"Don't think she'd mind," he said - he thought Leia would probably be happy to see her father, and something told him that in most cases, this sort of situation probably ended up with the father and husband returning to congratulate the new mother anyway.

Bail nodded firmly.

"Would you mind making a stop by the greenhouse at the Embassy?" He asked lightly. "I'd like to take her some flowers, as well. I'll enlighten you as to the importance of arallutes for Alderaanian mothers," he offered.

Han pushed off the speeder, nodding.

"Rattles, right?" he asked quickly. "You turn 'em into rattles?" He made a motion with his hand, mimicking how one might shake a toy at an infant.

Bail looked impressed, and hesitated at the door of the speeder, cocking his head.

"Yes," he agreed pleasantly. "Did she tell you?"

Han sighed, pretending to shrug it off casually. He reached up and scratched the back of his neck.

"I looked a couple things up," he admitted.

He'd been looking for an idea of something to get Leia. He didn't know what for, he just felt like he should - like he wanted - to get her something. He knew she wasn't doing anything _just_ for him, but it still seemed like - such a big thing they were doing, and it was primarily carried on her shoulders, at least for this part. He'd come across the notes about arallutes when he was sorting through things that were important in Alderaan, but the flowers seemed like something it was best for Bail to give her - and he had decided he needed to do something more unique to him, anyway.

Reaching across the speeder, Bail clapped Han on the shoulder again, jolting him out of his thoughts. Han blinked, and then swung himself into the speeder and revved it, turning to his father-in-law, and sporting what was absolutely definable as a proud grin.

* * *

There were, at present, tensions dividing Leia and her brother - mutually acknowledged tensions. Where in the past, any discord that flared between them had more often than not resulted in Luke's earnest attempt to resolve them, this minor personal conflict was different in that Luke remained as stubbornly resolute regarding his side as Leia usually did. Given that, she was forced not only to confront how overbearing she could be with her firm convictions - not a negative trait, in her line of work, but one that was less than desirable in many familial relationships - but also to reflect on what was fair to Luke, after all she had asked of him.

His frequent absence from Coruscant made resolution difficult; it often had the unfortunate effect of allowing her to compartmentalize the tension, and downplay it, or in some instances, cause it to flare up irritably and remind her why they had fought in the first place. She still harbored resentment regarding a harsh argument at the beginning of the year - occurring just after Han had returned from his deployment - but the more he was gone, the more she missed him, the more amenable she was to revisiting the issue - and now, particularly, she wanted to reconcile as best as possible with Luke.

It was a happy coincidence that he made one of his customary returns to Coruscant - to put in duty hours and return to military life for a stretch of time in order to adequately balance New Republic involvements with his slow, steady efforts in rebuilding his Jedi Order - around the time Leia had decided she wanted to start telling family. She couldn't imagine leaving Luke out of the inner circle of those in the know, and she'd hated the idea of telling him via comms.

She was much more at ease with having him here, in the comfort of her living room, drinking her tea and looking earnest and kind and predictably disheveled, delighted to see her again, and - if she was reading his emotions correctly - as embarrassed as she was over their respective stubbornness.

He looked up when she entered the room - she noticed he was intently studying the vase of arallutes she had on the kaffe table. Her father had brought them to her a couple of days ago when he'd come home from dinner with Han - he'd plucked the youngest ones he could find; they would be well suited for rattles right around the time they needed to be. She smiled at them fondly, and turned to her brother.

"Thanks," Luke said, as she handed him a cup of the soothing lemon-mint tea she'd taken to drinking lately - it helped with the mild nausea she had, which was worsening slightly by the day, though still not reaching the epic proportions one always heard about. He cupped it in his hands and inhaled the scent, tilting his head curiously. "Interesting flavor choice."

Leia hesitated before sitting.

"I can get you something - "

"No," Luke said hastily, flushing. "That's not what I - you just usually have herbal teas."

She arched an eyebrow, taking her seat.

"It's alarming how observant you are," she mused.

"Off-putting," Luke snorted. He sighed. "I know."

Leia gave a mild shrug, and leaned back against the sofa, propping her elbow on the back.

"It doesn't alarm me," she said.

Luke smiled, and looked at her heavily, skipping ahead of pleasantries without mincing words.

"I'm...glad you wanted to see me as soon as I was back," he said, "but, um - I wasn't expecting it."

Leia looked a little apologetically grim.

"To be entirely honest with you, I don't think I was planning on welcoming you so warmly," she said, with a little shrug. Her lips turned up at the corner. "When you sent the message letting us know you were coming back I felt differently, and I'm glad - "

"Me too."

Leia nodded. She rubbed her nose, and then sighed - the thing was, they hadn't been on hostile terms; they hadn't stopped speaking - they had just, for a bit of time, been cautiously formal with each other; loving, but the way one might be with a relative they rarely see, rather than a treasured immediate family member - and it had been clear that they had disagreements to sort out, which were either exacerbated, or mitigated, by his lack of presence on Coruscant - depending on the day, and their moods.

She shifted, deciding to reach out and take her own mug, but Luke retrieved it from the table and handed it to her, a gesture for which she gave him a nod of thanks. He waved his hand casually, and tilted his head. Leia cleared her throat, tipping some of the tea up to her lips, tasting it, and then averting her eyes to watch the steam, beginning delicately -

"How is your friend?"

Luke's lips turned up in a lopsided smile - _friend;_ that was how Leia had chosen to refer to Mara Jade, whom she had never met, and about whom she knew little more than what Luke had told her: that Mara was a romantic interest of his, and that she was, in no uncertain terms, a former Imperial assassin and Sith apprentice. Though Leia had lit up a bit at Luke's mention of a significant other, her interest in - and amiability about - such a person had faded immediately upon hearing about Mara's past, and it was from _there_ that their initial fight had ignited.

"She's well," Luke answered simply - the truth, and not much more; he sensed Leia's ultimate purpose in eagerly asking to see him as soon as possibly had nothing to do with Mara, and little to do with a total reversal on her position _regarding_ Mara, but he did appreciate her inquiry, and it seemed mostly neutral, in terms of her tone and aura.

Clearing his throat quietly, Luke offered -

"She's taken some time to hunt down her roots," he said. "She wants to rediscover memories of the family she was stolen from," he explained - in a non-threatening effort to gently remind Leia what he'd tried to tell her initially: that Mara had suffered at Imperial hands, too.

Leia compressed her lips. She inhaled the scent of her tea, and tilted her head.

"Well," she said carefully. "That can be a disturbing undertaking," she said, snorting faintly. "You and I should know."

Luke nodded, pleased with the conversation so far. He took another sip of tea, set it aside, and folded his hands, looking down at the cup for a moment. Staring at his clasped hands, he cleared his throat again.

"Do you _want_ to discuss Mara?" he asked. "Or, I guess," he trailed off for a moment. "Look, I'm not going to force her on you, Leia, but I'm not giving her up, either, that much remains the same."

Leia nodded. She traced her finger around the rim of her mug.

"I never said you had to give her up."

"Not in so many terms," Luke agreed politely. "But you implied - an ultimatum, which was bound to hurt me in some way. I don't have any interest in abandoning my relationship with you. And I...as much as I respect your political career, I certainly won't put it ahead of my personal happiness in this regard."

Leia sighed softly, cringing at herself.

"I know."

She bit the inside of her lip to keep it from trembling - normally, a calm discussion wouldn't necessarily reduce her to tears, but she had appropriate excuses for emotional instability these days. She still - smarted, over what she'd initially said to Luke when he tried to outline, very respectfully, the complexities of his current relationship; he had told her what Mara's past was, and Leia, in a fit of shock, had snapped back - _A sith apprentice? A sith...lordess? You can't be serious, Luke, I barely convinced this galaxy I'm not Vader's usurping evil spawn, I can't have one of his pets for a sister-in-law._ The look on Luke's face had been awful - a mixture of hurt, anger, and bewilderment - no doubt at least a sliver of it was Leia's sudden assumption he was involved enough to be marrying this woman. Her words had been a misfired reaction, anyway - sure, she had some panicked, peripheral concerns about the political shitstorm that would probably come of it, and as callous as that was, her career was a part of her, and she had that sort of mind regardless of the context.

The root of her discontentment, though, was what it usually was - why did that bastard - _that bastard_ being a term she used to describe Vader, the Emperor, and Tarkin, collectively - keep fusing himself into her life in the most inane and intrusive of ways? Why was it that everywhere she turned, she could not seem to be free of connections to him, of Imperial poison? She was both scared and miserable at the idea of Luke falling for someone _like that,_ and despite the logical arguments her better self spouted - everyone has a past, everyone can be reformed, _you don't even know her_ \- it was another thing she had to come to terms with, and while her reaction had been admittedly selfish, she saw that even then, and she had handled it poorly, she of course felt justified in her own feelings.

"Luke, I do want to apologize for that comment," she said, soft and sincere. "You stood by me, and followed my directives, during the whole," she frowned, as she used the cultural phrase, "Skywalker Reckoning, and that was more incredible than you'll ever know." She nodded to emphasize that, and took a deep breath. "I will never again ask you to subjugate your life to my political orchestrations."

She caught his eye intently.

"I promise, Luke."

He nodded simply.

"I trust you," he agreed. He swallowed hard, and lifted his shoulders casually. "As much of an - irritation - as our little...spat," he snorted, "has been, there's a reason I didn't just barge into your apartment with her on my arm one night and then ambush you with her past later."

Leia nodded, and Luke shrugged again.

"There wasn't any way it was going to go over...well," he said dryly. "And Mara is cagey. She projects herself with aggression. You'd have sensed hostility immediately."

Leia arched her brows.

"She doesn't like me?"

"She doesn't like anybody," Luke said seriously. "She's wary of you. You can't blame her for that. I can't blame her for that - look at how you reacted."

Indignation pricked at Leia, and she gave Luke a slightly darker look.

"You didn't exactly soften the edges of what her position with the Empire was," she said sharply.

"That would have been misleading, and dishonest -

"Yes, I agree, but your honesty does not mean I am obligated to accept her with open arms - she wasn't some foot soldier broken by economic desperation! She was a key member of the ruling apparatus."

"A weapon, manipulated and raised by a brainwashing Emperor," Luke said calmly.

Leia drew her lip between her teeth tensely.

"So you've argued before."

"And I'll keep arguing," he said, in that same gentle tone. "Leia, Han doesn't have a spotless past either. You have to see the hypocrisy in refusing to acknowledge that Mara might be reformed when you accept that Han was once an Imperial cadet himself."

"Don't you - " she started loudly, almost shouting - and then she stopped immediately, stricken, and swallowed hard to calm down, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. "Don't go there, not again," she said tensely - it was the same argument that had sent them into heightened hostility last time they talked about this. Leia's fierce protective drive regarding Han - "Han joined the Academy because he wanted to be a pilot. He was a starving - street orphan, and at the first instance - the first time he witnessed Imperial cruelty - he intervened," she said passionately, "and he was," her voice cracked, "he was whipped for it."

Leia's eyes stung, and she reached up with one hand to swipe at a tear or two.

"You can't compare his Imperial ties to a woman who - only had a crisis of self after her side lost."

Luke sighed. He tilted his head back and forth.

"Okay," he said, "but it isn't as simple as Mara deciding she wants to be good just so she lives, either," he retorted firmly. "You don't know her. You don't know what her...motivations are, or were, but Mara has...been important to me, when I felt I didn't have anyone to turn to who understood."

Leia pursed her lips.

"Redemption isn't about one good act or a sudden change of heart," she said. "It _starts_ there. It progresses from there - but I have spent years now sentencing Imperials for their crimes, and you...think that some heartfelt discussions erase what she has done?"

"You don't know what she's done."

"Your refusal to tell me, and your attempts at keeping this under wraps for a rather long time tell me enough," Leia said warily.

Luke smiled a little sharply at that.

"There's where you don't get to chastise me," he said. "You were never forthcoming about your relationship with Han, not in the least - I don't think I knew the full extent of it until well after we rescued him from Jabba," he reminded her. "And I don't fault you for keeping your private life _private_ until you were comfortable discussing it. You can't fault me either."

Leia turned her head into her palm and rubbed her forehead. She nodded at that, acquiescing, and rested her teacup on her knee.

"I'm trying to understand...Luke, it's just - the way you came to me, to break this news to me, it makes me feel like there is something horrendous that must be a part of her past, and I'm exhausted by the idea of that," she admitted. "I don't want to be at odds with someone you _love,"_ she said earnestly. "I'm just...intimidated by what you're not telling me."

"I don't know the depths of what Mara's Imperial work consisted of," Luke said flatly. "If I did, I wouldn't tell you, because she shares things with me in confidence, just like I'm sure you share things with Han. But I know she's not a rotten person; she's not irredeemable. Not in my eyes."

"No one is irredeemable in your eyes," Leia said emphatically. "That's the point. If Vader had survived the final battle, you would have wanted him absolved, and that never would have been palatable to most of the galaxy. Redemption is not just unless a person pays for their crimes."

"There are more ways to pay for crimes than the traditional systems you operate in," Luke said mildly. "You told me yourself that Anakin Skywalker spoke to you of the trials he faces engulfed in the Force, answering for his sins."

Leia nodded. She tapped her finger against her head, and her eyes welled up again.

Luke let out a quick sigh.

"You understand that the onus is on you to decide how you're going to handle this, right?" he asked. "It's one time I can't pander to your emotional needs, not at the sake of mine - "

"Yes," Leia said. "Yes, I know. I'm trying to remember the lessons I learned when we were at odds about Vader. I don't want to be insensitive, and I don't want to demand you cater to me."

She took a deep breath, pausing to have a sip of tea.

"I want you to be happy, Luke. I'm sorry we fought, and I'm sorry," she paused, sighed heavily. "I'm sorry I'm so unforgiving, but," she looked up at him with a resigned shrug. "It's the Empire, and it's so...so associated with all the worst pain in my life and my reactions are ... visceral."

Luke nodded.

"I understand that," he said candidly. "And to be clear, Mara is a matter-of-fact person, and she doesn't particularly agonize over the past, she is moving forward - and I know that would be hard for you to stomach," he said. "But at some point, if I can convince her, I want you two to meet and - then you can just talk to her. You can ask who she is. I don't want to say I think you'll like her, but," he shrugged. "She means a lot to me. And she's been...fierce, in her desire to detach her Force sensitivity from corruption."

Leia bit her lip.

"Ah," she said huskily. "She doesn't want to meet me, either."

"Like I said," Luke answered. "She's wary of you. With fair reason," he pointed out. "She told - well, specifically, she told me that you're going to outright hate her, and for much of the same reasons you just listed, so," he shrugged. "I guess I'll have to tell her she's sort of right about what she expected." Luke's lips turned up ruefully. "She plays off her reluctance as disdain for politics and pacifism, but I think it just makes her feel terrible for being unable to break the Emperor's hold on her."

Leia pursed her lips.

"You can begin by telling her I'm not a pacifist," she said shortly. She clicked her tongue. "And hopefully not as self-righteous as that all just made me sound," she muttered, grimacing.

"I don't think you're self-righteous," Luke said simply. "I think you've got a lot of honor, and a lot of strength...and that some people might not have had the privilege to uphold the short of strength of character you have."

Leia bristled at that, too, but bit her tongue - _privilege? She thought angrily - the privilege of having my world destroyed, my body violated and abused, my family ripped at the seams, my very self challenged - ?_ But quickly, she quelled the resentment, taking a moment to think beyond her personal ailments - privilege, yes: the privilege of being educated, of having had money, of having had a support system that allowed her to rebel, and hide, with much less risk of death than some less protected, of having people who believed in her no matter what, loved her no matter what - and the fact that she had been gruesomely hurt in more ways than one was not diminished by her also acknowledging that another woman, in wildly different circumstances, might not have had the capability or the impetus to buck authority.

"At the very least, on some level, you and Mara have a lot in common," Luke said dryly. "Both of you think it's hilarious to mock me."

Leia gave a small smile, and wrinkled her nose, sitting forward abruptly, and then bowing her head.

"Leia?" Luke asked quizzically. "You went completely pale," he noted.

She scooted to the edge of the sofa, setting aside her tea roughly and holding up her hand -

"I don't want you to take this as a reaction to what you just said," she managed dryly, standing up, "but I'm going to be sick."

Luke sat up straighter, watching as Leia quickly excused herself from the room - he heard her footsteps hesitate, and then deduced she went for the kitchen sink instead of the 'fresher in her bedroom, and he heard her - though he would be she was trying to be quiet - vomiting. Frowning, he leaned over to look at both of their teacups, and then got up, leaving them. He hesitated on the threshold of the living room, second guessing himself - most people didn't like being watched, when they were ill - so he stood awkwardly, long enough that Leia returned, a different glass in her hand - ice water, with crushed mint leaves - and nearly ran into him headlong.

"Luke," she murmured, arching a brow. "Sit back down. I'm fine."

She ushered him back towards the couch, and with one hand on his shoulder gently sat him back down. She collapsed heavily and leaned against the corner of the sofa, rolling her eyes lightly as if he shared in some private joke. Luke just tilted his head worriedly, while Leia picked a leaf from her water and bit it between her teeth.

"Are you sure I shouldn't take that as an angry physical reaction to being compared to...?"

Leia nodded, smiling wryly.

"I'm sure," she answered.

Luke frowned.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "You never get sick," he pointed out. "And, uh, not that you're not _allowed_ to cry, but you don't usually just...casually tear up in conversations, even if they're heavy."

Leia nodded.

"Both new developments in my life," she said dryly. "A temporary personality change - Luke, I wanted to try and clear the air between us because we should, and I shouldn't have let you leave again without having a second conversation," she admitted, "but I, ah...had a new incentive, which in hindsight is a little selfish - regardless, I don't want hard feelings between us, and certainly not simmering over the next few months."

Luke blinked.

"Well, I don't want that either," he said lamely. "The Haven opening is set in stone, then?"

She looked curious.

"It's - what? Oh," she said quickly. "Ah. That. Well, yes," she said, "though that's not really what I'm talking about - though please forgive me if I tell you point-blank you cannot bring your former Imperial Sith lady assassin girlfriend to a memorial for Alderaan. We just aren't there yet," she said, narrowing her eyes - with just a hint of ascerbic mirth.

"I wouldn't try," Luke snorted.

She smiled gratefully, and picked at another mint leaf.

"I sincerely hope your reaction is vastly different from Chewbacca's," Leia began, and sat forward, reaching out to set her water aside - she anticipated Luke lunging forward to hug her.

He tilted his head with interest.

Leia bit her lip, and took a deep breath - Luke was, after all, the third person she'd told, and yet she still felt a rush of nerves doing it, a sense of exhilaration _and_ anxiety, saying it out loud -

"I'm pregnant."

Luke leaned back, his eyes widening in shock - she was a little delighted to read, immediately, that he hadn't been expecting her to say that at _all_. It delighted her because she had wondered if there was a way Luke would have known, and she was pleased that he hadn't. He blinked at her a few times, and then burst into a grin, leaning forward to - exactly as she'd predicted - hug her.

"Leia!" he nearly howled, excitement rushing off of him in a whirlwind.

She grinned and reached up to squeeze his shoulders, allowing herself to enjoy the fraternal affection.

"That's incredible," Luke said earnestly, leaning back. He held her elbows tightly. "That's - good, congratulations - are you - wait, good, right?" he said rapidly, and Leia nodded.

"Yes, good," she said huskily. She licked her lips. "We're very happy," she confirmed.

Luke beamed.

"See, I just didn't want anything between us overshadowing this," Leia said hurriedly. "And I feel - how important family is right now, and you're my brother - "

Luke was nodding rapidly.

"That's it, that's _it_ ," he said, as if discovering something. He let go of her, and gestured at her like an artist appraising a painting. "You feel different - I thought I was imagining things," he went on eagerly. "You feel - bright, and um," he snapped his fingers, "alive."

Leia laughed.

"You mean I usually feel dead?" she quipped.

Luke shook his head.

"I can't explain it," he started, and Leia placated him with a look, returning his nod.

"I understand," she said softly. "I," she paused, and tilted her head back and forth. "I know it's there. I know something's different," she said slowly. "I can sense it. I think it's too little for anything to be very...pronounced. I think if I wasn't somewhat in tune with my sensitivity, I'd not have noticed."

Luke's eyes drifted down to her abdomen with interest, and he started to reach out. His hand hovered for a moment, and he furrowed his brow.

"Can I...?" he started respectfully, and though he had his hand out, Leia knew he was asking about something other than a physical touch, and she reached out, grasping his hand gently and pushing it away.

"No," she said, answering both questions. She tilted her head, apologetic, but firm. "I know it's of interest to you because it's a new concept that incorporates the Force," she said. "I expected that - but Han can't feel anything yet," she explained. "He won't be able to for a little while longer, and he should be first. I don't want to take that away from him."

Luke drew back, nodding in understanding - Leia was his sister, anyway, not an experimental subject for him to study the nuances of the Force through. He imagined if he was in Han's position, he'd be pretty nettled - jealous, even - if someone else was able to feel something, or connect in a way he couldn't - with his own baby, so Luke refrained, not bothered by Leia's request.

"How is Han?" Luke asked, smiling. "Did he pass out or anything?"

She laughed again, and shook her head in her husband's defense.

"Not in the least - he's nervous, but we're both a little nervous," she hesitated, "I have a ... lingering bad feeling, but I think I'm just - dealing with some fears that aren't ever going to go away," she admitted.

"The Dark Side?"

"Maybe," she allowed vaguely.

Luke reached out to take her hand.

"I know you were so conflicted - hell, I'm so happy for you, Leia," he said sincerely. "You guys'll be great. I can't _wait_ to see Han hold a baby."

Luke's comment was tongue-in-cheek, yet Leia whole-hardheartedly agree with it, though she was sure her reasons were far more sentimental and biologically primitive than his were.

"Does Bail know?" Luke asked.

"Han told him a few days ago," Leia answered. She nodded at the arallutes. "He gave me those."

" _Han_ told him?"

Leia laughed quietly.

"It's a tradition in Alderaanian culture," she told him, just as she'd told Han. "The new father tells the old father, and the new mother is supposed to tell her mother-in-law," Leia trailed off, shrugged gently. "I told Chewbacca."

"You," Luke nearly choked laughing. "You told - Chewie - as a proxy for Han's - oh man, I bet - I can't wait to give him hell for that," Luke laughed, doubling over. "Wait - how did Chewie, react? You said something about his reaction?"

Leia looked sheepish.

"Oh, it was a mild - cultural misunder - ah, he licked my face," she said.

Luke stopped laughing, his eyes wide.

"He - "

"You heard correctly - its apparently a blessing of good luck for - Wookiee women," she explained. She held her hand up near her cheek. "He licked...my entire face," she said, eyes wide. "It was alarming. He caught me off guard, so I shrieked a little," Leia admitted, "and Han almost killed him."

Luke burst into laughter again, silent this time.

"I'd have - paid to see it," he managed, taking deep breaths as he calmed down. "So - who else knows? Is it public?"

Leia looked appalled.

"No, not in the slightest - you're only the third person we've told," she assured him. She reached out to pick up her water again. "We're only going to tell close family and friends for the time being, throughout this week," she explained. "And I'll tell Tavksa soon, because she and Evaan will need to help me plan maternity leave."

Luke was nodding along to her words, fascinating. He watched her drink, and sighed, crossing his arms and shaking his head in wonder.

"It's great, Leia. It's just...it's great," he said. "I'm going to hang around for a while, then," he said firmly. "No disappearing acts, just time in the Core," he decided.

"You'll have to make time to see your girl," Leia said gently - a peace offering.

Luke tilted his head.

"She's very independent," he said wryly. "But don't worry. I've managed to do just fine - and under your nose," he noted slyly.

He uncrossed his arms and leaned back, resting his elbow on the back of the sofa, looking at her happily.

"You and Han," he reflected smugly, "and a _baby_ \- can you imagine going back, and telling the version of you we met on the Death Star - "

"No," Leia said, with a good-natured laugh.

Luke compressed his lips, and reached over to squeeze her hand again, conveying in silence how genuinely thrilled he was for her. He sat forward abruptly, straightening his shoulders.

"Where's Han?" he asked. "I want to see him, too. Gotta wish him luck," he quipped.

Leia smiled, tilting her head, arching a brow - Han was off handling some software issue in some of the new ship weaponry, otherwise he'd have been here as well - but when he returned, Leia was the sheer smug pride he took in this whole experience so far was bound to give Luke some serious amusement.

* * *

The thing about genteel, average domesticity was that Leia was rarely on the _Falcon_ anymore. Not for lack of loving it - she still harbored intense affection for the ship, though her love for it would never come close to rivaling Han's. He still spent considerable time on it because it was his prized possession, his secondary safe haven - outside of his home with her - and his never-ending project, but Leia herself, save for private travel with Han, was distanced from it. It had saved her from certain death at before the Battle of Yavin, it had run blockades for the Rebels throughout the war, it had evacuated her from Hoth, been home more times than she could count - including for a brief time while she and Han found their penthouse - and it held a special place in her heart; yet she never seemed to have a reason to be on it anymore. When Han wasn't working on it, or avoiding some work responsibility, he came home to hang out with her, and so they didn't linger there in their free time.

It was almost a _thrill,_ for Han to stop her from showering after dinner and instead coax her down to the private hangar - _C'mon, Sweetheart, the old girl misses you -_ instead of sinking into a hot bath, which she was doing a lot more of lately, she left her casual lounge wear on and went with him down to the ship, blithely curious about what had gotten into him this evening. The air in the hangar was a little musty, but it was warm, and it was one smell that Leia was relieved didn't affect her negatively - too often of late, things she previously liked had made her feel nauseous. She'd forced Han to throw out all of the current brand of shampoo he was using and just use hers until this - irritating - symptom subsided.

To his credit, Han set his teeth and did not complain about shampoo that made him smell like summer honey.

The oily, engine-heavy, metallic ship smell, though - that didn't seem to bother her and neither, she was glad to discover, did the familiar interior scent of the _Falcon_ \- fresh polish, singed wires - and something indefinable that was just distinctly _Han._

He closed up the ramp behind them, and Leia paused near the entrance to the cockpit, tilting her head curiously.

"Where's - Chewie?" she asked, starting strong, trailing off in half-hearted distraction when she noticed something different.

"He's been bunkin' with the Kashyyyk delegation for a few days," Han grunted. "Some new junior senator is his...nephew, or somethin'? Or an intern? Dunno," Han said explained lazily.

Leia tilted her head, vaguely running through her political directory - Kashyyyk did have a new crop of young trainees; she'd have to look into it again. She'd feel terrible if she hadn't gone an introduced herself to someone in Chewbacca's inner circle. Han was saying something about Chewie being able to communicate with Malla more clearly over at the delegation's massive artificial Kashyyyk environment, and Leia stepped into the cockpit, running her hand over the chairs.

"Is this new leather?" she murmured.

"Huh? Yeah. S'new. Ish," Han said.

Leia turned to him, her lips pursed curiously. He looked a little sheepish, but shrugged as if it was nothing.

"It needed it, y'know, old stuff was cracked and," he waved his hand jerkily. "It could kind of - cut bare skin," he shifted his weight, holding his arm out pointedly. "If you scratched against it, it wasn't great," he explained.

Leia pressed her lips together lightly.

"You mean it could hurt a baby's skin," she amended softly.

Han tilted his head, attempting to look gruffly noncommittal. She smiled at him a little, but she didn't want to needle him, so she said nothing, and stepped back up to him, placing her hands on his hips and leaning her head back to look up at him.

"What's the occasion, hmm?" she asked. "Why are we having a _Falcon_ date?"

Han shrugged, touching her shoulders and tilting his head down the hall, back towards his - _their_ \- cabin. She bit her lip and nodded, slipping past him and making her way back there – she certainly didn't mind whatever had gotten into him. Though she'd never admit it out loud, she _liked_ it when Han had his mysteriously romantic episodes; they made her feel delicate and feminine and admired in ways strong women weren't supposed to want.

She ran her hand along the wall and ducked into the cabin, looking around fondly, and striding over to the low bunk, where she sat down comfortably, pursing her lips. Han stopped in the doorway, bracing his arms on the arched frame. He looked at her wordlessly for a moment, staring at her there, sitting on the bunk like she had so many times before, and he flashed her a grin.

His arms slid down and he strode forward, walking not towards her, but towards the spare bunk. He crouched down, and ran his hand along the bottom of it, feeling for a switch, and Leia turned her head, her brows going up slightly when she heard the subtle hum as it turned on.

"You fixed the temp controls?" she murmured.

Her question trailed off though, as she realized – the spare bunk looked a lot different; much different than it had the last time she'd seen it – in fact –

"Han," she began. "What…?"

He gripped the edge of a safety railing on it, and turned to look at her, still crouched down level with the bunk. He ran his free hand over his mouth and then held it out, gesturing to the bunk.

"Yeah, I fixed it," he said. "Heating works, core temp monitoring is all set," he listed, his knuckles turning white on the railing. "I added this for safety, y'know, so nobody rolls out," he said, and then ran his fingers down between the slats, "and I left this open, with these," he tapped a slat, and shimmer screens electrified to life, the soft, humming kind often used to keep children in designated playpens in public places – not painful, of course, but gently unyielding; they warmly nudged would-be escapees back to safe areas, "so we can see inside, 'n case we need to," he explained.

He stopped, giving her a moment to process it, and then cleared his throat almost nervously.

"I, uh, - look, I know, we've got to get an actual thing," he said, waving his hand vaguely, "the carriers, and stuff for securing in hyperspace," he shrugged, "but I figured…we need somethin' like this eventually."

Leia continued to look at him silently, her head tilted softly to the side, her expression intent. She tried to find something to say, but nothing suitable enough came to mind, so she got up, moved closer, and knelt down next to him, running her hand over his thigh, up along his side, up to his chest. She leaned forward, and kissed the corner of his mouth.

Han lowered one knee for balance, and turned his head a little, giving her a wary smile.

She grasped his arm.

"It's a safe place to play, too," she assured him. She pointed in to the modified bunk. "You can let him or her sit in there," she murmured, trailing off a little. She kept falling short of getting too far head of herself – she didn't know why. Here Han was, fixing up his beloved ship to be an appropriate place, and she hadn't quite gotten around to telling her Aunt Rouge or Winter –

She just wanted to get through the first heartbeat appointment –

Leia swallowed hard, blinking a few times, and turned to kiss Han's cheek again, nuzzling her face against his hair to brush off a few of her constantly persistent tears. She squeezed his arm, and then used his shoulder to stand up – and experienced a rush of dizziness at the abrupt change.

She stood, contemplating a deep breath, and decided whirling around and darting into the 'fresher was a better idea – Han, having learned his lesson a couple of weeks ago, did not follow her. She didn't like an audience, and his concern over her had quickly become peripheral, because this really couldn't be helped, and it wasn't so bad that she didn't bounce back.

When she came out of the 'fresher, a somewhat playfully exaggerated pout on her face, clicking her tongue distastefully, Han had gotten up and moved to the bunk, stretching out on comfortably. Propping his head up, he crooked his finger at her.

With a lingering glance at the spare bunk as she crossed the cabin to him – _he did that for me;_ her thoughts whispered; _there's going to be a baby asleep in there_ – and climbed up next to him, stretching out next to him with her head on the pillow. Han leaned over and wrapped an arm around her waist, lowering his head to kiss her.

She parted her lips, touching his chest lightly, her eyes carrying a warning.

"I only rinsed my mouth out," she mumbled. "I didn't brush."

"You're too used to it, then," Han retorted, and kissed her anyway.

Her nose crinkled at the idea of it, but she smiled nonetheless, and when Han pulled back he still ran his hand loosely over her side, content to lie close to her, in the familiarity of the cabin.

Leia rested her head on her arm, tilting her head up a little curiously.

"Have you been…cleaning up the ship?" she asked.

Han shrugged.

"Just felt like I should be doin' somethin'," he said, after a moment. He furrowed his brow darkly. "Chewie's been making fun of me."

Leia made a soft _tsking_ noise and ran her fingertips over his chest.

"How dare he," she sympathized.

Han smirked, basking in her support, no matter how facetious. She turned over a little and rolled onto her back, so she could look between him and the littler bunk, her gaze lingering on the latter.

"What do we think about all this now?" she asked quietly. "Father knows, Luke, Chewie," she listed. "It's not just us anymore," she turned her head back to him, flicked her eyes around nervously. "It's really not going to be just _us_."

Han nodded slowly.

"Think we'll be okay," he said. "S'just a baby, right? Not the Empire."

Leia laughed hoarsely.

"Better the devil you know though, isn't that what they say?" she quipped.

Han grinned, and moved closer to press his nose into her neck.

"You still got that bad feeling?" he ventured.

Leia sighed.

"I don't know," she answered heavily. "It's not persistent, it's just," she sighed, closing her eyes. "I think I had…enough nightmares about this – several at Varykino," she hesitated, "and I was so…worried there'd be something wrong," she hesitated again.

"You think it might help to do your meditating thing?"

Leia tensed, physically shying away from his words. She shook her head apprehensively.

"It always leaves me feeling so…weak and drained; I don't think it'd be healthy, or," she shook her head again, "it tweaks my trauma sometimes."

She just wasn't sure if it was a good idea – she had no one to turn to and ask for advice or wisdom; there were, of course, Naberrie women who had children – several each – but none of them were Force sensitive, and because she was more attuned to this than she thought she'd be, she had more fascination with that aspect of herself than usual.

She shrugged a little and rolled towards him, burying her face contently in his shoulder. She closed her eyes, listening to the faint sound of him breathing in and out, and silently amused herself with the smell of her shampoo on him – nearly lulled to sleep, until she felt another twinge of nausea, and shifted to give herself more room to breathe.

She took a deep breath, and Han shifted his head next to her lazily.

"You thought about any names?" he asked gruffly.

Leia breathed out, shaking her head after a moment. She pursed her lips.

"Have you?" she asked.

He shrugged.

"Nah," he said. "Just wonderin' if you did. 'Cause maybe you had ideas when you were little."

Leia smirked.

"Because all little girls name their future babies?" she teased.

Han grumbled something, and Leia laughed – and when she quieted down, she shifted her head on the pillow, falling back into easy, reflective silence for a moment, before hesitantly offering –

"I like Rue."

"Ryoo?" Han asked, thinking of her cousin.

Leia shook her head.

"Rue," she corrected crisply, "none of that _yuh_ \- sound," she explained.

"Does it mean somethin'?" Han asked groggily.

Leia nodded, running her hands back through her hair.

"Gentle," she translated. "In Alderaanian."

They looked at each other silently for a moment, and then Leia smiled, tucking her head into the pillow. She rolled closer, pressing her nose into his shoulder. She laughed under her breath.

Han grinned, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"It's too early for this," Leia said into his chest. She sighed and drew back a little. "I don't mind drawing this out. Taking it day by day," she said.

He touched his knuckles to her jaw.

"Is somethin' bothering you, Sweetheart?" he asked. "You're fixated on not thinkin' too far ahead."

Her sigh was heavier this time.

"It's just that lingering dark feeling," she admitted. "I've had it before. I get it when I'm happy."

His brow creased with a frown.

"You sure that's all?"

She nodded – as far as she could tell. It was such a perplexing feeling because, because – she had been told, twice at this point, that she was healthy; nothing in any tests run on here were problematic – it would be another several weeks before she was at a point where her physician would preform the amniocentesis that would identify genetic problems, and _that_ she supposed was hanging over her head, that must be it – it was one last hurdle, to ease her fears about any lingering Imperial torture – she kept pestering Dr. Mellis for an advanced test, but the doctor was adamant that Leia was so healthy at the moment it was unnecessary to engage in a test that heightened the risk of what she was afraid of, anyway.

"I'm okay, Han," she assured him.

He nodded, willing to trust her. He stretched and draped his arm over her loosely, closing his eyes and giving an exaggerated yawn.

"Wish you could get rid of that," he sympathized. "Y'know, get to enjoy just bein' happy."

Leia nodded, smiling at the thought – she did, too, but she supposed all people who had suffered sometimes had a suspicion of utter happiness. She was doubly wary of it, in the back of her mind, sometimes, because of how quickly her happiness had been snatched away back on Bespin – the searing shock of that still lingered, sometimes more than she knew.

She had gotten it – _him_ – back, but the effect remained.

Han cleared his throat, his eyes still closed, tilting his head up at the top of the bunk.

"Figured you'd like Breha," he said.

After a moment, Leia gave a low laugh.

"Han," she said, with a good-natured cringe, "I hate to break this to you, but you do not say my mother's name right."

Han shifted, taken aback.

"What?"

"You – pronounce it like your old girlfriend's name," Leia admitted. "Very hard, very Corellian."

"You're just now tellin' me – ? No wonder Bail hates me – "

"Father doesn't hate you," Leia mumbled, rolling her eyes.

"How _do_ you say it?"

Leia gave him her mother's name with the correct inflection, rolling the 'r' in a musical purr, even very faintly but distinctly pronouncing the 'h'. Han blinked a few times, apparently enlightened, and then frowned.

"Well, that's kind of subtle," he muttered dryly. "Sounds like you gotta speak _your_ language to say it right."

"Some names are like that," Leia answered simply. "We," she said, touching his chest lightly, "should pick something more flexible."

She smiled to herself, and trailed off a little, letting her hand fall from Han, and rest at her own chest, fingertips against her heart. She chewed on her lip for a moment.

"I miss my mother," she whispered. "She'd be happier than anyone."

Han nodded – he wasn't really sure what his own mother would think; she'd been busy, during most of his life, trying to keep him out of jail, or keep him from killing himself in some vagabond, unique way – he hoped she'd be proud; realistically, she'd probably say something like – _little man, where'd you find yourself a woman like that? You be good to her – you be good, Han._

He only nodded, and Leia's grief was brief, healthy, and quiet – he thought she was asleep, after a moment, but she kept shifting – shifting, and then she moved her hand between them, her knuckles brushing at his belt. He looked down, arching a brow, but she wasn't aiming for anything salacious.

Leia brushed her fingertips against her ribs, then lower to her abdomen, her shoulders relaxing – she knew, by so many standards, she wasn't supposed to be able to feel anything yet, and she wasn't sure if she could, or if her sensitivity made her feel things in a nerve-deep way that was inexplicable, and more inherent, than physical.

Still, she felt something like butterflies, faint and living, and she pressed her fingertips against her navel – there was little there but the barest hint of a swell, and it made her feel humble, and sovereign, all at once. Without a word, she reached for his hand, and laced her fingers into his for a moment, before loosening her grip and pressing his hand against her abdomen.

"Can you feel anything?" she asked quietly.

Han hesitated. He shook his head, his touch cautious. Leia drew his hand over her hip and rolled towards him, shifting lightly to lie on her stomach – something she had precious little time left to do.

"You?" he ventured.

Taking only a moment to think it over, Leia nodded – she could, and that may be unorthodox for most women, but it wasn't for her. She even – she pursed her lips, on the verge of saying – _I think it's a boy_ – but sometimes, still, her power felt too much like witchcraft, and she wanted to let life take its course the way it should.

Han grumbled something, and Leia laughed huskily.

"You will," she promised. "You'll feel it in a few weeks."

Han gave an exaggerated sigh, and moved his head closer to hers on the pillow.

"Want to sleep here?" he drawled temptingly. "Old time's sake?"

Leia's eyes fluttered, and she turned her head, nose brushing his – and smiling intensely, suddenly, fiercely _delighted_ – she nodded, and turned to him, clinging ever closer, close enough to whisper in his ear – _well, if we're talking old time's sake, Hotshot, we shouldn't just sleep._

* * *

There was a small congregation of people gathered in Han and Leia's apartment – members of their intimate circle of family and friends who were now collectively all of those who were _in the know_. Winter had taken it upon herself to organize a quiet, celebratory evening – Leia gave her blessing, and used it as an opportunity to deliver the news to some of her Naberrie family.

Adding to the chatter and bustle in the apartment, Jobal and Sola were active on the holo screen, the only two available – other than Pooja – at the time. They would pass on the news to the other adults – for good reason, the little ones would be kept in the dark until things were more publicly obvious on Leia's part.

It was an interesting evening, a good mix of people – made more unique by the virtual presence of Leia's grandmother and aunt, whom had never met Winter, Aunt Rouge, or Chewbacca – _Leia,_ _you have quite the same look about you as Sola,_ Rouge had remarked, with interest, rather than malice, cautious about the newcomers, but civil all the same.

Sola, witty and sharp as ever, had responded that she was honored to be considered as beautiful as an Organa Princess, and left Rouge vaguely unsure if she was being teased or not.

"How are you feeling?" Jobal asked, leaning forward at the desk in Ruwee's office – that was where she had answered the call, and Leia had let Han do the honors of telling them, since it had caused such a ruckus while they were at Varykino – _You ain't gonna believe it – I convinced her_ – he started, and Jobal had nearly burst into tears before he finished speaking, a reaction with Leia found endearing, and a bit humbling.

"Well," Leia answered honestly. "I haven't had it very bad," she explained, lifting a shoulder – she was perched on the arm of a recliner, with a good vantage point of her whole sitting room. "I hardly had any nausea at all, until last week," she said, with a grimace. "Two days were particularly miserable."

Han ran his hand over her lower back, currently occupying the seat of the armchair she was sitting on. He grinned a little, and nodded, peering around her to see the two Naberrie women.

"Still went to work, though," he noted smugly.

"Of course," Sola said, matter-of-fact, "there would be speculation, otherwise."

Leia nodded, arching a brow, and Rouge laughed.

"There is always speculation about high profile women and _that_ ," she pointed out.

"There's been speculation about Leia since she set foot back on Coruscant after her honeymoon," Bail said dryly, shaking his head.

"Can't blame 'em," Han quipped. "They knew what we were up to for two weeks straight," he drawled, and Leia elbowed him gently, rolling her eyes.

Bail glared at him, and then shook his head, choosing to ignore it.

"It's a shame they can't leave women alone regarding the subject," he said, his brow furrowing. "I remember how they hounded Padmé," he trailed off, frowning.

"You remember?" Sola snorted. "It wasn't just the press, either. The Nubian Political elite seemed to think it was their Force-given right to know who the father was," she said distastefully. "You think Naboo values women's agency, for all it's focus on pre-teen queens, and then you realize we only value _chaste_ womanhood."

"Which is why I could never be queen," Pooja piped up, sighing dramatically.

"Since her father isn't here, Bail, would you mind being scandalized on Darred's behalf? I think that's what she was going for," Sola said pleasantly.

Bail pointedly turned an annoyed look on Pooja, and she laughed, backed up with amusement from Winter.

"The older generation is full of prudes," Pooja said, clicking her tongue.

Winter crossed her arms, leaning to her left to nudge Luke hard with her shoulder.

"They've rather missed out, I'd say," she said.

"As if you would know, young lady," Rouge sniffed reproachfully, and Winter just gave the back of her aunt's head an incredulous look for a moment, before turning and looking at Leia in disbelief – Rouge still, still maintained her wildly unbelievable belief that Winter was somehow a completely clueless maiden.

Even Bail arched his brow a little wryly at his sister, at which point Rouge scowled darkly.

"I will thank you all to stop looking at me like that, I shall maintain my delusions how I please," she said pertly.

Winter bit back a grin, her shoulders relaxing, and Leia shrugged – once again, Rouge was smarter, and more aware, than they all gave her credit for.

Sola leaned forward, clearing her throat to be heard better.

"How far along did you say, Leia?" she asked. She looked over Leia carefully. "It isn't noticeable."

Leia inclined her head, taking that as a compliment – though she wasn't sure why she automatically did that; she had no control over the physical change in her body, and she shouldn't take it as a positive or negative indictment of self – it was just socially ingrained, she supposed, to take it nicely when told she didn't look – _bigger_.

She pursed her lips, tilting her head and glancing at Han a little sheepishly.

"It's, ah," she started, "about thirteen weeks, close to fourteen," she answered.

Han sat forward again, shifting to the edge of the sofa.

"Hey, let me grab," he said, and then got up, brushing past Leia with a hand on her shoulder – he seemed to be unable to refrain from touching her lately – even if he just walked past, he'd place a hand on her shoulder, or squeeze her fingers, or run his thumb over her hip.

He walked off towards her office, and Leia looked around, taking a deep breath.

"As I said, it's still very early," she murmured, "and we aren't making anything public."

"I wouldn't expect you to," Jobal said. "Regardless of all the waiting physicians often want you to do, I imagine you don't want to be harassed."

"Or want _Coruscant Daily_ running polls on what the baby's name is going to be," Luke said, crossing his arms.

"That could be funny, or terrible," Pooja muttered darkly, imagining them asking her silly things, versus offensive things – like if she was going to name it after Darth Vader.

"Where'd Han go?" Luke asked.

Chewbacca, coming out of the kitchen with a tray of juices, teas, and various other snacks, tilted his head and grunted – _[He went to get the sono]._

Leia parted her lips.

"Sonogram," she translated for the Naberries.

Jobal clasped her hands.

"I never get tired of seeing those," she admitted. "Leia, if you have a secure enough line, would you mind sending me a locked file of it?" she asked.

Leia nodded.

"Of course," she murmured, as Han came back into the room with Leia's datapad in his hand.

He strode back over to her and stood next to her for a moment, showing her the screen. Leia looked at it, looked back up at him, and saw he was confused, and smiled a little.

"What file is it in?" he asked.

She took the pad delicately and showed him, clicking into _citizenship documentation, s_ crolling past the records that awarded her Corellian citizenship by virtu of Han's, and then a second file, labeled _Corellia: taxes._ Han watched her, skeptical, and then frowned.

"Why's it under our taxes?" he asked.

Luke gave a snort of laughter, and Han looked over at him narrowly.

"I don't…ever think I've heard you say taxes before," Luke cackled.

Chewbacca gave a quiet grumble of laughter, too.

"Yeah, I pay taxes," Han retorted. He flipped up his fingers to tick off a list – "Property, income, marriage tax, tax on my mental health from dealin' with him," he pointed at Bail and smirked, and Leia's father rolled his eyes. He looked back at Leia quizzically, and she handed him back the tablet.

"In case I am hacked," she answered.

Han nodded.

He quickly pulled up the digital imaging recording of Leia's sono – the first one she'd had, taken and downloaded for her three days ago – and maximized it best he could, turning it so Sola and Jobal could see. He grinned, while both women nodded in approval, obviously having experienced such a thing before.

"The rhythm monitor looks strong," Jobal murmured, noting the recording that ran along the top was steady and reliable.

Leia sighed, twisting her hands in her lap a little nervously.

"Yes," she said tensely, hesitating, and then deciding not to say anymore – it had taken the Two-Onebee a long while to find the heartbeat, though Leia's physician said that wasn't out of the ordinary, and that sometimes it wasn't even ready to be heard at this stage.

Leia told her she could feel movement, and her medic – kind and helpful as she was – warned Leia that she might be convincing herself she felt something, but it was too early for that –

Leia knew, though; she knew she was identifying something.

"…or a girl?"

She blinked back to the conversation at hand when Han nudged her shoulder as he sat back down with her, looking down at the sono. She turned slightly, her lips turning up a little – it was such a strange thing to look at, the little shimmering, moving, breathing image – so impossibly small, and yet –

She looked back up, searching for whoever had asked the latest question. She arched her brows.

"She asked if you know if it's a boy or a girl," Luke said, nodding at Sola.

Leia turned back to the screen and shook her head.

"It's too early for the sono," she said. "I was told the blood test can determine that, but we've decided we aren't going to find out."

"Blood test?" Rouge asked. She looked worried. "Those ones Breha used to have, the amnio," she waved her hands. "Weren't those responsible for – "

"No," Bail said sharply. He cut his sister off and gave her a harsh warning look. "That was never it. We needed those."

Rouge closed her mouth thinly, her expression apologetic. Leia hesitated for a moment, and then cleared her throat.

"It's for genetic peace of mind, Rouge," she said. "Mine's in a few more weeks," she explained.

Han sat forward, handing the datapad over to Winter. Winter inched away, and Leia laughed.

"Han – don't give her that, sonos freak her out."

Han tilted his head.

"What if you have kids someday?" he asked.

"I can look at them when they're out of me," Winter retorted, taking the pad and passing it delicately down to Pooja and Rouge. The two of them leaned over to peer in, Pooja sticking her finger out to try and trace an outline for better focus.

"You really don't want to know what it is?" Pooja asked mildly, glancing up cursorily.

Leia shook her head.

"We don't care," she said.

Han folded his arms and shot her a glare.

"She knows, though," he said, pressing his arm into her side.

Leia twitched her foot at him.

"I do not," she murmured in response.

"You do," Han said under his breath.

"You think she'd hold it over your head, Han?" Jobal laughed. "How could she know?"

"She might," Luke said, with a shrug.

"Ah," Sola said, arching a brow curiously. "Well, that's interesting – Mami, didn't Anakin used to say he could talk to Padmé's baby?" she asked.

"Yes," Jobal said, unconcerned. "Though now I don't know if I believe him. He might have _told_ us it was two."

Luke snorted, and Sola leaned forward, smirking.

"I'm afraid we'll have to end the call, Leia," she said. "Ryoo's on her way over, and the children," she trailed off pointedly, and Leia nodded, clasping her hands on her knees.

"I'm glad we got ahold of you two," she said sincerely. "You'll tell the other adults?" she asked.

"Gladly," Jobal said. "Expect a call from Ryoo, of course, she'll want to talk your ear off – probably claim something she said to you changed your mind."

"She's a wise woman," Leia said wryly, and Bail stepped forward, leaning forward in a respectful bow.

"Good to see you both again," he said. "I hope you're all still planning on coming to the consecration of the Haven," he said warmly.

"Ryoo's family certainly is; Maiah is nearly bursting with excitement," Sola promised. "Unless anything completely unexpected comes up, so will the rest of us," she assured him.

Bail beamed, and Leia lifted her hand in a little wave. Goodbyes were said – and the call was cancelled, leaving the holo humming and blue, and the Coruscant gathering alone with each other.

Han slid his arm around Leia's waist and leaned over to kiss her arm, resting his head there for a moment.

"That went well," he said.

She nodded, and reached over to push his hair back, catching his eye pointedly.

"I _don't_ know if it's a boy or a girl, Han," she reiterated. "I don't know half of what I feel most of the time."

Han pretended to grumble, and then sat forward, gesturing at the datapad. Pooja slid it past Rouge and gave it back to him, but Luke intercepted, taking it to give it a fascinated look.

"You saw this up close?" he asked.

"'Course," Han retorted. He shrugged. "I could hear it," he said. "You can't really hear it on that thing."

Luke looked up, passing the tablet to him.

"What's it like?" he asked – asked Leia, more than anything.

"Um," Leia answered quietly, lifting her shoulders. "Strange," she admitted.

Han stood up, taking a few steps to hand the tablet to Bail.

"You ever seen one of them?" he asked thoughtlessly, shaking his head.

Bail took it gently in hand, gingerly drawing it closer to look. He nodded carefully.

"Yes," he answered, his voice lowering. "Yes, I have."

Leia watched her father study the sonogram, and her heart dropped a little for a moment – her smile faded, and she thought of her mother, though of all of the times her mother and father must have looked at one of these and hoped, this time, _maybe_ –

She felt a twinge of discomfort in her chest, and then in her abdomen – felt sad, and then apprehensive, and took a deep breath, standing up. She looked at her father a moment longer, and then cleared her throat.

"Chewbacca hasn't seen that either, Daddy," she said quietly, sharing a private look with him to convey that if he needed an out, she was giving it to him. She read nothing particularly forlorn on his face, but he nodded, cleared his throat, and turned to hand the tablet to Chewie.

Leia ran her hand over Han's shoulder and squeezed pointedly, casting him a quick look, and then gestured at the kitchen.

"I need something to eat," she said, excusing herself briefly – she heard Chewie give a delighted roar and then Winter, apparently having been forced to finally see the sono, give a quiet shriek _– I can't believe it's living in her_ –

Han followed her into the kitchen a few moments later, summoned by the light squeeze she'd given his shoulder, and making a generic excuse about helping her do – whatever she was doing.

He found Leia getting more ice, and taking a bowl of frozen fruit she'd cut up earlier out of the freezer. She unwrapped the fresh seal, and popped one of the tart slices into her mouth, holding it between her teeth while she balanced the ice and the fruit. Han took both from her, nudging the freezer shut with his shoulder.

He gave her a curious look, setting the items down. She cocked her hip against the counter and reached up to bite off a piece of the fruit, nodding her head towards their sitting room.

"We ought to offer them a bottle of wine," she murmured.

"Nah, we can start given hints for them to wrap it up," Han joked.

She smiled a little, and he stepped forward, curving his palm around her hip. He tilted his head at her.

"What was that about, eh?" he asked, jerking his chin back towards their somewhat full living room.

Leia shrugged a little.

"I'd rather you not talk about that too much around him," she murmured. "The sonos. It's difficult. He gets a look in his eyes."

Han frowned a little, fingers brushing over her hips.

"You don't think he's happy for you?" he asked.

Leia looked at the fruit in her hand, and then back up at him through her lashes. She reached out with her other hand and placed it on his chest, taking a deep breath.

"I think he's thrilled, Han," she said honestly. "I also think it's hard for him. I want to be sensitive."

Her parents had suffered so much, when it came to pregnancy, and all that came with it, and she wanted to balance her own joy and excitement with sensitivity to the tragedy in his past. She knew how much he missed her mother as it were – this must make it somehow worse.

Han nodded. He didn't think Leia's father was as unable to handle this as she thought, but he recognized her effort. He squeezed her hip gently, and Leia popped the rest of the fruit in her mouth, nodding back towards the sitting area – she could hear the easy hum of conversation out there. He let go of her, and grabbed the ice, tucking it into the crook of his arm, and paused, to look at the fruit.

"I thought you didn't like skappi?" he asked.

Leia picked up the bowl lightly, and tilted her head. She smiled, and lifted her shoulders.

"I _don't_ ," she answered vaguely, balancing the bowl in one hand, and pointing down to her abdomen.

Han gave her abdomen a wry look, and then looked back up at her, snorting.

"Can you tell it to start liking my shampoo smell again?" he whined. "'M tired of smellin' like Nubian Honey Syrup."

Leia grinned and brushed past him, pausing to nudge his hip with hers.

"I like your pretty flower smell," she teased, and Han groaned, dragging his feet to follow her back into the living room.

"Leia," Rouge said almost immediately, turning around eagerly as soon as Leia handed Luke the bucket of ice to help her offer it to people.

"Don't be waiting on us," Winter said, outraged. "Sit down," she ordered Leia.

Leia ignored her, and folded her arms, looking down at Rouge. Rouge swiveled, to face Leia better, and spared a glance for Han before pushing forward.

"How would you feel about a formal announcement going out with Haven invites?" she asked. "It would be – so fitting, moving forward like that," she said.

Leia hesitated, looking first at Han, and then her father. Her father looked neutral, Han gave her a shrug, but wary look, as if to say – _you do what you want, Sweetheart, but when we talked, you said -_

"Rouge, Han and I aren't sure we'll be making a formal announcement," she said demurely.

Rouge sat back a little, consternated.

"Darling, people are going to notice," she said, gesturing at Leia's figure. "You'll – well you'll – you'll _show_ , Leia," she explained, as if she wasn't sure her niece knew how this worked.

Leia smirked.

"I'm well aware of that," she said. "And in that way, it will be obvious, but I'm not obligated to cater to public interest on the matter," she said.

Rouge blinked at her, pursing her lips.

"There ought to be a royal announcement," she said. "At least for our people," she went on. "We – I suppose we also need to talk titles," she added. "Consider inheritance papers and – if it's a girl, we'll need aristocracy decrees from the Elder Houses – "

"Rouge," Winter murmured gently, resting a hand on her aunt's shoulder.

Pooja looked from Rouge to Leia warily, and Leia took a moment to look back at her father, hesitating again.

"I don't want to argue right now," she warned her aunt. "I need you to prepare yourself for a…less formal upbringing, for," Leia paused, holding her hand in front of her abdomen carefully, "this – our baby," she explained.

Rouge closed her mouth, her head tilting curiously.

"You don't want a title, a formal decree announcing your blessing…?"

"I want privacy," Leia said earnestly. "Rouge, don't take it as disrespect, just," Leia sighed. "There are…certain responsibilities I would rather be a choice than an inheritance for," she paused uncertainly again "this baby."

Rouge turned to look at Bail, and he gave a small nod, a shrug.

"This is the sort of thing that can be discussed in detail at a Council meeting," he told her – and Leia knew it was placating, rather than mostly serious; she had already candidly told her father she and Han were leaning towards ensuring their family life was almost militantly private, if – now, when – it came to children. Leia had no intention of titling any son or daughter of hers with the honorific of prince or princess.

Rouge took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. She nodded.

"Well, suppose – that makes sense, if you are truly to be the last of the Princesses," she allowed slowly.

"Look at you, Rouge," Winter was quick to chime in in her sly, sweet way. "A regular liberal."

Rouge gave a faint, soft scowl, and Han, sitting back down with the datapad tucked down next to him on the armchair, gave her an appreciative look.

"S'just, y'know, 'cause all the backlash Leia faced 'bout Vader," he said, and Leia noticed both Bail – and Luke – give Han a completely startled look, as he was clearly extending a hand to explain things to Rouge. "We, uh, want to protect our kid from that," he said. "'Cause it's kind of hard to…y'know we wanna keep people from starin' at 'em, 'cause it's not the same as it was with Leia, on Alderaan, we're just kind of… havin' 'em for them to be people."

Rouge looked at Han quietly for a long time.

"That's sensible," she remarked mildly. Her brow furrowed. "Them?" she asked. "It's not - are you having twins?"

Leia gave a startled laugh.

"No," she choked emphatically.

"Nah," Han snorted. "But we might have more than one."

"Han," groaned Luke. "She hasn't even had _that_ one yet!"

Leia compressed her lips, and returned to sit on the arm of Han's chair, silently going back to her fruit. Rouge took the moment to turn again to Han, and give him a matter-of-fact look.

"Regardless of how you are going to raise it, you _are_ the father of Leia's baby, and she is a daughter of House Organa and the last Princess," she said firmly. "That gives you considerable standing in our culture – "

"More than marrying her? I'm married to her, Rough," Han said loudly. "I've been married to her for _a year and a half_ – "

"I know," Rouge said, "and _yes_ , more than marrying her, particularly if it's a girl," she explained. "I assume you've been told you will be on the dais at Leia's side during the Haven's opening ceremonies?" she asked.

Han kind of made a face, then hastily hid it, and nodded. Leia bit down on the tip of her thumb, suddenly positive she knew exactly what was coming – Rouge had mentioned it once, in the most recent council meeting –

"I would like you to wear traditional Alderaanian dress during the celebrations," Rouge said firmly. She nodded her head at her brother. "Bail can assist you in choosing the attire. I'll provide a tailor."

Han said absolutely nothing. He stared at Rouge blankly, and because she seemed to sense she had the upper hand at the moment, she stood abruptly, and went over to stand near Leia, placing her hands on her face, and smiling.

"You ought to be getting as much rest as you can," she said softly, and leaned in to kiss Leia's forehead. "Congratulations, darling," she said earnestly.

She turned to Han, gave him a sharp, pointed look for a moment, and then leaned forward and placed a kiss on his forehead as well, quick, swift – almost fast enough to miss, though everyone saw it – Winter and Chewbacca shot gleeful looks at their respective best friends.

"I am sure this means a lot to you, Han," she said quietly. "You have earned it."

Taken aback, Han nodded. He cleared his throat gruffly.

"Thanks, Rouge," he said simply.

She nodded, and turned to give the rest of them piercing looks.

"There's no need for us to stay too late; Leia will be here tomorrow," she said firmly.

Bail grinned, and nodded, acquiescing. He stood, and in the next half hour or so – as that was how long it took for small, close knit groups of people to say goodbye, even when they lived close – they took their leave, with Bail and Luke being the last to walk out – Bail leaning close to Leia – _She was like this with your mother, too_ – he said of his sister.

Leia smiled and kissed his cheek.

"Don't worry about me, Leia," Bail said, stern but gentle. "Nothing about seeing you happy upsets me."

She blushed a little, and nodded, while Luke stepped in to say his goodbyes, finally own trading insults with Han about something.

"Be honest – can you tell what it is, boy or girl?" he asked.

Leia gave him a look, and crossed her arms.

"I think I'll wait for _it_ to tell _me_ ," she quipped.

Luke laughed.

"Fair enough," he said. He tilted his head at her. "You're tougher to read, you know," he said. He gestured at her. "Even when you have your walls relaxed, there's more protection," he said.

Leia pursed her lips – interesting. She wondered if it was the Force affording her some extra insulation, keeping her – this – the new life – safe from outside influence, and prying eyes, and any kind of disruption –

Luke and Bail finally left, and in the loud silence that fell – the loud silence that always fell in an eerie way, when crowds of people dissipated – Han turned to her with his head tilted, an incredulous look in his eye – the look on his face that had first appeared when Rouge made her suggestion returned, and Leia bit her lip, applauding the restraint he'd exercised in the moment –

"She wants me to wear _what?_ " he demanded out loud, the hint of a whine darting through his voice.

Leia held up her hands, biting her lip in amusement, and placated him silently.

"I heard her," she said calmly. "I heard her. Han – more than anything, you should take this as a compliment," she said softly, her expression sincere. "My very traditional, elitist, difficult to please aunt asked you to wear traditional Alderaanian attire."

Han clamped his mouth shut and looked alarmed - that was precisely why he was so caught off guard - he thought he'd fought his last battle with Rouge and her constant, subversive attempts to _spruce him up_. He stared at Leia for a moment, eyes narrowing – she sure as hell was a clever one, that Rouge - he didn't think he could realistically fight this without being extremely offensive in some way.

He gave a half-hearted shrug, and folded his arms.

"It'll look," he started, fumbling. "Leia," he griped. "It'll look - ridiculous. I'll look like – "

"My father?" she suggested, arching a brow.

Han frowned hastily.

"Hey, you put those words in my mouth!"

Leia laughed.

"Well, what were you going to say?" she asked pertly.

Han gave her a grim look, and scratched under his chin.

"Yeah," he grumbled vaguely. "Ol' Viceroy looks fine in that getup, though – c'mon, you don't want me to wear that," he said skeptically. "It'll look stupid on me," he asserted dismissively.

Leia hesitated. She crossed her arms, started to speak, and then bit her lip. Han dipped his head, looking at her suspiciously.

"Hang on – you do want me to wear it?" he asked, translating her facial expression.

She hesitated again, her lips parted.

"I don't think you would look stupid," she said diplomatically.

Han blinked at her. He dramatically gestured to his current clothing – his usual half-ironed, dashing style – blood-stripe pants, well-worn vest, shirt that was casually and purposefully left open at the neck. Leia nodded, as if to imply she understood, and then tapped her fingers on her shoulders lightly.

"You, ah – well, remember that I grew up on Alderaan," she began calmly, "and – from a socio-cultural standpoint, the environment in which one grows up often influences what one finds attractive – for example, I enjoy Alderaanian style dresses and hair designs more than others, and there are certain fashions that I – by consequence of seeing them, and seeing childhood crushes wearing them – "

"Alright, Your Worship," Han interrupted loudly. "You tryin' to say you think I'd look good in one of the Viceroy's robe sets?"

Leia blinked at him carefully.

"I am saying that I might not find it…unappealing."

He stared at her, shaking his head.

" _You_ think I'd look _hot_ ," he translated bluntly.

Leia said nothing. She wrinkled her nose in a cute little way, compressing her lips with an innocent look on her face. She shrugged gently. Han's demeanor changed slightly – he straightened.

"Fine, I'll wear it," he said simply.

Leia arched her eyebrows. She started to smile, and Han glared at her wryly.

"Don't look so satisfied, Sweetheart, wait 'til I find you some traditional Corellian clothes to wear," he drawled.

"Traditional Corellian clothes?" she asked skeptically. She cocked her head to the side, anticipating exactly what he was going to say –

"Yeah," he answered seriously. "The nude."

Leia laughed, folding her arms across her chest.

"Han, I'm not going to look very appealing naked for much longer."

Han laughed skeptically.

"Bantha _shit_ ," he told her confidently.

He reached out to slip his arm around her shoulder, leading her back into the living room. He sat down on the couch, and Leia stood in front of him, reaching out and sliding her fingers through his hair lightly. She smiled at him gently, massaging his scalp with her fingertips, and Han reached out first to touch her hips, and then run his palm over her abdomen tentatively.

"You think it's asleep?" he drawled, amusing himself.

Leia looked down at his hand for a moment, and started to reach into herself with her sensitivity – yet she hesitated, and pulled back; she didn't want to disturb any peace – and suddenly, she felt a prickling sense of foreboding, not illness, not nausea, just fear.

"Han?" she ventured, her voice trembling.

He looked up sharply, confused.

"What?" he asked – not unkindly, but a little bewildered, because he had no idea what could be wrong right now; it was such a good evening, he and Rouge had been good to each other, she got to tell the Naberries, her father was still so thrilled –

Leia opened her mouth, and looked at him helplessly, confused herself.

"I just have such a bad feeling," she gasped quietly, suddenly struck with it all over – shaking, almost.

Han leaned back heavily and stared at her, and then he lifted his hand and beckoned. Leia sat down on his knee, and he pulled her closer to his chest, his chin resting on her forehead.

"Well, kriff, Sweetheart," he murmured. "S'okay. It's gonna be okay," he soothed clumsily.

 _Hormones_ – normal _nerves_? He wasn't sure; he just wrapped his arms around her tighter – tighter, but in the careful, conscientious way he'd been holding her lately, because he was a little skittish about gripping her too tightly, in case he hurt her, or the baby – even though she kept saying he wouldn't.

Leia rested her head on his shoulder and breathed in and out deeply, not quite crying, but clearly on the verge of it. He said nothing, unwilling to give her useless platitudes if he didn't even know what was wrong. Had she been – downplaying her emotions on this, had he pushed her into something she wasn't ready for…? But no, Leia had come to him – Leia had said she was ready to take this step –

Maybe it was happening too fast –

"Stop thinking, Han," Leia whispered in his ear. "I can tell what you're thinking. It's not you," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Its just hormones."

She held on to _him_ tightly, though, tighter than he was comfortable holding her, and left him thinking – _is it, Sweetheart; is that all it is?_

* * *

In a much more professional, quiet meeting at the beginning of a work day, Leia informed Evaan Verlaine, Carlist Rieekan, the Chief of State, and Tavska of her condition - and decided that for the time being, they would be the last people privy until it was noticeable. She needed Tavska to begin making contingency plans for her schedule - since she would be into her third trimester at the time of the Haven opening, she set that as her last stretch of formal appearances - and Evaan was to prepare to take on the mantle of regent Princess, leaving Bail to handle his symbolic duties, _and_ Evaan's senatorial ones. She considered asking Winter to stand in for her, as Evaan was generally uncomfortable as a consort, but Winter would be nearly married at the time, and Leia refused to cut into that time for her. Carlist she told in order to prepare him for Han needing leave - what would likely be extensive leave, if Leia knew Han at all - and Mon Mothma for much the same reasons, though she admitted to a small bit of eagerness to tell her old mentor, wondering how she would react.

Mon was appropriately congratulatory, seemingly pleased on all accounts - as was Carlist, grinning ear to ear while trying to maintain a veneer of professional disinterest. Evaan paid her respects in the usual way - by seeing to it that a bouquet of arallutes was sent to Leia's office shortly after she had left the informational meeting, and Tavska, as collected and stoic as ever, had simply given a small bow, inclined her head respectfully, and set off to begin making notes in Leia's schedule, asking Leia only to inform her of when the projected due date was.

Leia told her, and an hour into the afternoon, when she experienced a lull in work and looked over her schedule for the rest of the week, she noticed Tavska had already blocked out the date in red, indicating the few weeks before it as light or limited duty, and projecting at least twelve weeks of time off following - a number that brought a wry smile to Leia's lips. She was, naturally, entitled to _significantly_ more than twelve weeks maternity leave, but Tavska knew and understood her well enough to anticipate what Leia thought immediately when she saw all that down time: _I can't be off work for that long; I'll suffocate._

There would always be time later to extend if she needed it - she lacked capacity to really understand how she'd feel after the baby was born, anyway; all she could comprehend currently was how she felt now, carrying it, and that was indescribable in its own way, so she tried not to make inflexible plans. She'd been thinking it might be smarter for she and Han to alternate stretches of leave, rather than taking their full rights concurrently, and all at once - that way, there was less chance of them getting burnt out, or feeling trapped and cooped up - and aside from that, she wasn't so sure infancy was when she should be home constantly. She certainly didn't remember her own infancy, but what she did clearly remember was her mother and father making time to tuck her in and read her stories and play with her when she was a toddler, and not yet given to a governess for lessons, or sent to an academy for schooling. If she and Han both banked some of their leave for later years, when the baby _knew_ them -

They had yet to discuss much of that, though; there was time. Well - there was time, and then there wasn't; already, she had gotten pregnant faster than she anticipated, and it seemed to progress so quickly - two weeks, then _ten_ weeks, now verging on a second _trimester -_ there really wasn't much time, after all; things seemed to fly by, and creep by, all at once. Han was still wrapping his head around Leia's remark that they would need a nanny - _You want one? I figured that's somethin' you'd fight Rouge on,_ he'd said warily. Leia was hands-on, but practical; it was unrealistic to think she and Han could respond to all their commitments without help - and despite Han's flippant jokes about quitting the military and staying home, she doubted he understood how stifling it would be, for anyone. It was one thing she'd agreed with her aunt on, and she'd tentatively told Rouge that once it was more commonly known that Leia was having a baby, Rouge was more than welcome to vet final candidates for Leia and Han to interview.

It was _the_ one thing she'd agreed with Rouge only lately - she had ultimately confirmed there would be no formal announcement. She had also forbidden Rouge from attempting to find a - of all things - a _wet_ nurse for her, which led to an awkward conversation that Han had wanted out of almost immediately - _Surely you aren't going to do it yourself, Leia,_ Rouge had protested hastily, _even Breha had a wet nurse._ Nettled, and irritated, Leia had reminded Rouge that of course her mother had used a nurse; Leia was adopted. Rouge was unshaken, though; she had retorted that despite what Leia might want to think, Breha had contracted a wet nurse for most of her other disappointments - a fact that Bail confirmed, but told Leia quietly that it was due to medical advice, not out of preference.

In the midst of all of this, Rouge had tried to wheedle Han onto her side, imploring him - _You don't want her doing that herself, do you? She'll be even more exhausted -_ Han, of course a little confused because Rouge had so effortlessly avoided saying the word _breastfeed,_ had stared at her warily for a few minutes and then asked, rather bluntly - _Are you talkin' about her breasts? -_ Rouge then immediately gave him an affronted look, appalled he'd mentioned them, and while Leia tried to roll her eyes back into her head and out of her body, Han retorted, edgily - _She can do whatever she wants with her breasts, don't drag me into this!_ At which point Rouge tried to argue that Han would be slighted if Leia was allowed to feed her own baby, informing him point blank - _She'll likely keep the baby in bed with you so the little one is closer and you won't have carnal pleasures._

It was the only time Leia had seen Rouge succeed in thoroughly embarrassing Han enough to make him get up and leave the room - and Leia had to put her foot down - _Rouge, this is ridiculous; if you do not stop, I will start swearing - a strange woman is not going to feed my baby. Not when I am capable and not when I want to -_

Rouge backed off, nursing her damaged sensibilities - and in hindsight, Leia tried to be understanding; it _was_ actually a common practice for members of the Alderaanian royal family to obtain a wet nurse, in many cases for the reasons Rouge gave: it alleviated demands on the queen - or princess' - time so she could rule more effectively, it was thought to ease pressures on her and expedite recovery - in a way that was somewhat ludicrous, but well-intended, the wet nurse was an important part of Alderaan's cult of matriarchy. Leia, however, was not in her mother's position; she could choose to take time or leave time as she needed it, she shared governing duties with other high ranking members of the Diaspora, and Coruscant was much less coddling of new mothers. Some saw Coruscant's almost callous disregard for the new motherhood of its political elite as detrimental Leia - for the time being - found it to be a relief.

She wanted to be left alone. She knew that was unlikely once the Media started to notice, but she at least wanted to be treated no different by her peers, and the political apparatus.

The technicalities of it all were starting to weigh on her heavily, and each time she brought someone new into the circle, she felt like she was chipping away at something, chipping away at - certainty, safety? She wasn't sure what to call it, but she knew she had felt nothing but thrill, exhilarating anticipation, when she'd told Han, and Chewie, and Luke, and yet she kept being struck with dread now, kept getting a dry, bad taste in her mouth.

In her office late in the afternoon, she felt restless, and she felt - she felt sick, in a subtle way; she almost felt like she had the flu. Not entirely unheard of, considering, but she kept experiencing an ache low in her abdomen that was setting her on edge - it wasn't pain, per se; she just felt - off. Her temples throbbed with the beginning of a headache, and she wondered if she was suddenly afflicted with a literal one due to the _figurative_ headache that coordinating everything was starting to be.

She massaged her head lightly, staring with bleary focus at the vase of arallutes on her desk - _Evaan knows, Tavska knows, it's on the calendar_ \- apprehension swam in her chest, and she closed her eyes a little dizzily, grimacing. She tried to stave off the ominous feeling she'd been intermittently experiencing - the one that had struck her so hard two weeks ago, and so bewildered Han - _there's nothing wrong, nothing wrong -_

She opened her eyes; reached out to touch a petal, and then drew the flowers closer, leaning in to take a deep breath - -she was grateful the scent of arallutes didn't bother her, but then again, her aversion to certain scents had abruptly faded over the past couple of weeks, and rather than give her some relief, it made her feel anxious - as did the sudden absence of nausea. She prided herself on not being an overly panicky woman so far - she hadn't spiraled down into a mynock nests of what ifs - _what if the baby has this, what if this happens -_ yet this past week, she had called her doctor to check in twice, espousing worries mildly, hiding internal conflict in calm questions that she pretended were off the cuff.

Her medic was patient with her, understanding, and calm - _Leia, please don't be shy of calling; ask anything you want - all I can tell you right now is everything looks normal, safe, and healthy_ \- it didn't seem to matter how many times Leia heard that, though, very recently she hadn't believed it. She had called her last earlier this morning, reaching first her midwife apprentice, who patiently soothed her, and then had her pass her concerns on to an obstetrics droid for precautions. Leia had been unable to convey most of her concerns except, except -

 _I can't feel anything,_ she said curtly into the comm - _I can't...feel any movement._

She grated her teeth at the mechanical response - _The average woman does not feel quickening in her first gestation until well after sixteen weeks. You are barely at sixteen._

She tried not to bite her tongue off tensely - _Will you run statistics for Force sensitive women?_ She snapped, for once stating out loud her suspicious that she was much more finely tuned - regardless of medicine, she knew herself, she was certain she had been feeling - and now she _wasn't_ -

The respond from the obstetrics droids was clinical, and matter-of-fact: _No data to report. Female Jedi eschewed pregnancy._

Frustrated, Leia ended the call, left to dwell for most of the afternoon - the uncertainties piling in the back of her mind as she worked, and now coming to the forefront as her demands slowed down into the waning hours of the day. She should be reassured by the constant refrain she was hearing: _you're fine, Leia; it's normal to be anxious, but you are fine -_ she just - she just - was preoccupied with an increasingly strong feeling that she was not fine - that she, herself, might be okay, but something was _wrong_ with the baby.

The apprentice had told her if she thought she was experiencing emergency symptoms, she should come in - but Leia had nothing out of the ordinary to report, nothing that couldn't be chalked up to normal system stress brought on by pregnancy. She didn't feel comfortable bursting into an emergency room and demanding to have her irrational fears assuaged - and she called them irrational because they were based on nightmares, and peripheral _intuition._

Doctor Mellis told her gently that these persistent worries would likely disappear after Leia had her amnio genetic tests and could be assured of a routine bill of health, but Leia's heart always clenched in her chest in the mention of that - there was no guarantee that the amnio test would _assuage_ her fears; what if it confirmed them? What if it told her - that this had all been a cruel trick; sure, the Empire hadn't robbed her of the ability to conceive, but they had made her body incompatible with life, and things were so genetically compromised and wretched that she and Han had to make a decision.

She didn't know how to tell an average - a very intelligent and talented, but average - human doctor that she was different; she likely needed - hadn't the Jedi had healers, in their cadre of knights? Healers who had specialized in being who had the added complexity of Force sensitivity - Leia was listening to her body, almost pleading for guidance, but wary of interfering; not confident in her own power. She scowled, and cursed the Jedi Order for its archaic laws - disallowing reproduction - what an insult, what a disservice to Leia, personally, now, trying to navigate this all her on her own.

Taking a few deep breaths, Leia stood up, moving slowly over to the cabinet where she kept a cooler of drinks - offerings, for when she had private meetings in her office. She found some sparkling water, infused with citrus, and halfheartedly undid the fastening cap, first breathing it in, then taking a sip - her stomach was upset again, and for once she welcomed it.

 _I feel like I have the flu,_ she thought again, and then almost immediately relaxed all over - perhaps she was _sick_ , plain and simple, and if she was sick, the baby was sick - sleepy and listless inside her, and needing comfort, at at this stage, the only comfort she could give was soothing, gentle extensions of her power and, most importantly, taking care of herself.

She almost laughed in relief, taking another sip of sparkling water - it wasn't uncommon for her to misidentify run of the mill illness as something dramatically unique. She was so rarely ill - and had been so rarely ill as a child - that her mind tended to go into overdrive if she happened to actually be stricken with some virus; Carlist had commented on it once, in a damn near comical moment on Hoth, one of the first times he had politely treated her as just another soldier. He had responded to her telling him she had strange symptoms with a short - _'Organa, just take an antihistamine'_ \- and then, seeming to realize he'd been too rough, added hastily: _I believe what you have is a cold, Your Highness._ Leia had been completely abashed to realize that was exactly the problem, and Carlist had amended his amusement by point-blank telling her that other than one case of Iberian Measles, Leia had never even had so much as an allergy as a child, so it was fair that she reacted over aggressively to illness.

She took a few steps back, cradling the sparkling water against her chest and leaning over to press the call button under her desk. There was a time - Hoth, in fact - when she would have ignored something as mortal as illness, worked herself into exhaustion, and made herself worse by not confronting the underlying problem, but now was not the time for that.

She put in the call for Tavska, and then nearly jumped out of her skin when the door immediately opened - in fact, it opened at the exact moment she touched the button, and so Leia thought it impressive that she managed not to spill her drink all over herself when she started and then swiveled around to look at Tavska with barely hidden alarm.

Tavska looked back at her, taken aback, and then glanced down at the light on her communique bracelet right as it glowed and vibrated, indicating Leia's call. She relaxed a little, a wry smile spreading over her lips.

"I was just knocking, Your Highness," she said calmly. "I must have an enhanced sense."

Leia put her free hand to her chest.

"I thought you must have been listening at the door," she managed, shaking her head as she got her heartbeat under control. "You scared the daylights out of me," she accused good-naturedly, shaking her head. "Damn, Tavska."

The Togruta compressed her lips in a grin, and stepped in, hesitating with the door open.

"No official business," she said mildly. "You were calling for something?"

"No, nothing official," Leia said in return, and waved at the door. "Shut it," she murmured.

Instead of returning to her seat, she sat on the edge of her desk, leaning against it heavily, and placed her water on the flat surface next to her, looking at her assistant expectantly. She took a deep breath.

"I am," she began, and grimaced. "I am...not feeling well, Tavska," she admitted. "I need to go home and rest."

Tavska inclined her head in understanding immediately.

"I can easily shift your last two meetings to late tomorrow morning," she agreed, her hands hovering in front of her, as if protecting something at her belt. "Or would you prefer to take tomorrow as well?"

Leia shifted uneasily, looking back at Tavska with her lips parted, her mind wandering. She felt a prickle of unease again, and then compressed her lips, lifting one shoulder wordlessly - she said nothing, and Tavska still nodded with understanding; she would handle the schedule flexibly, planning for a contingency if Leia was still feeling poorly tomorrow.

"Is there anything pressing I can do to ease the stress of leaving early?" Tavska asked firmly - shifting schedules was often twice the headache of working, and she knew that well; if Leia wanted to depart the office quickly, Tavska could find ways to make it run smoother - and be less conspicuous.

Leia looked down at her bubbling water, frowning.

"No," she murmured. She cleared her throat. "No, just - ah, handle the changes, give my apologies," she listed, trailing off. "I'll run a flu scan on myself and get some sleep. I'm alright, I just," she paused, trailing off.

Tavska nodded.

"Understood, Your Highness," she said simply, requiring no justification - Tavska was the type not to bat a lash say anything Leia asked of her,and she would never divulge gossip, either; it was one of the reasons she was so invaluable. She cleared her throat, and shifted her hands, removing something from the satchel she always wore at her belt, and cupping it in her hands. "If that is all, Princess, I would like to give you this."

Leia arched her brows curiously, nodding and beckoning, and Tavska came forward, her head dipped forward. She presented her palms to Leia slowly, revealing a small, stained-glass box, the likes of which one might put ear bangles, or matches in.

"I noticed Madam Verlaine sent you flowers," she explained. "On Shili, we have a similar tradition. We give new mothers seeds to plant."

She tapped the lid of the pretty little box.

"My mate designs these trinkets," she explained. "Maisi has wanted me to give you one for some time. I did not want to bother you with her frivolity," she said -but she said it fondly, the way those who brushed elbows with the elite often gently teased their starstruck significant others.

Leia reached out and let Tavska hand her the gift.

"It's lovely," she complimented sincerely. "She paints them?" Leia asked.

"Crafts the glass, and paints by hand," Tavska said. She pressed her palms together, then gestured: "I filled it with rainstar seeds. It is a flower that grows in Shili's fain forests. It produces nectar we give to our younglings," she said, and then furrowed her brow. "I believe it is unsafe for human infants to ingest, but the _scent_ puts them to sleep."

"Well," Leia said softly. "I think we'll need that quite a bit," she quipped.

Tavska smiled her usual calm, small smile, and inclined her head. She took a few steps back, before raising her eyes and tilting her head to the side.

"Many blessings, Leia," she congratulated kindly, dropping Leia's honorific in a rare, personal gesture before departing to begin handling the cancellation of Leia's schedule.

Leia smiled after her a moment, then getting up gingerly and moving around her desk to resume her chair, and begin close-out procedures on her secure terminal. She sat back, and admired the box sitting in her hand, unlatching the tiny lock for the lid and peering inside at the collection of blue-green, pearl-like seeds. She picked one up and held it closer, mesmerized by the colour - she could detect a faint scent of aromatic rain even from the little bud, and she could only imagine how nice it was from blossoming petals.

Her head ached insistently, and her attention was wrenched away from the rainstar seeds, demanded by the discomfort. She set the stained glass trinket aside, and sat forward, reaching up to cradle her head in her hands, a cool, dark place to assuage the worsening throbbing for a moment. With cruel swiftness, the relief she'd felt in determining that she must be afflicted with a seasonal cold was gone, and she felt threatened again, uncertain, and daunted. She parted her lips, her mouth metallic and water, and turned, grasping for the waste receptacle she kept under her desk, her stomach churning.

She leaned over it and vomited, closing her eyes and flinching at the sour taste, and the burn in her nose. Siting back slowly to reach for the cool sparkling water, she rinsed her mouth and spit, listening to the vaporization systems in the wast receptacle, and trying to determine if she was dizzy, or recovering - she was so tired so suddenly. She lowered her hand to her ribs, running her fingertips across them, and then settling her hand on her lower abdomen, breathing in and out slowly - she felt a sharp flutter of movement, and almost gasped in relief, her eyes stinging harshly; it felt like a shiver - a weak shiver, but it was there all the same.

Tucking her shoulders in, Leia leaned forward, her hand still pressed against her abdomen. She wrapped her other arm around herself, reacting the the shiver with a sudden chill of her own - _if the baby's cold, I'm cold,_ she thought in a vague murmur, but more harshly, she wondered how it could be cold; there was nothing but warmth -

Gritting her teeth, Leia, sat up, turning to bury her face in her hands again, sliding her fingers into the loose wisps of hair at her temple. She was driving herself mad, thinking something was wrong with her, and it had to be putting stress on the baby - despite her own stumbling use of her sensitivity, she was sure the baby could feel _her_ emotions, unfiltered - she needed a hot cup of tea, a relaxing 'fresher, some more sleep - she would go home, get that - she could be a little pitiful, and Han would take care of her - and she would wake up refreshed, and if she and Han could just get this damn so-called scary test over with, she could relax, she could - she told herself that over the persistent, lurking shadow that crept into her heart, that whispered, inevitably, that something was not right.

* * *

 _\- alexandra_


	4. Three

_a/n: fair warning: it happens in this chapter._

* * *

 _Three_

 _7 ABY_

* * *

In hindsight, it seemed to Leia that just as she had instinctively known that something was wrong, an even deeper part of her had understood that there was nothing she could do, and that perhaps contributed to her prolonged attachment to the belief, the almost painful insistence, that she must merely have a mild virus. In essence, her sensitivity to the Force, and by extension, herself, labored to simultaneously warn her, and protect her. In that respect, she never particularly harbored any guilt, only mounting confusion, dread, and later, unspeakable sadness that she'd hardly have been able to manage if it hadn't been for Han - for everyone around her.

She went home from work on the very day she had given Tavska the task of tentatively planning for maternity leave, and for the rest of the evening felt increasingly more listless and irritable. She asked Han to come home early, then snapped at him when he showed extensive concern and tried to ask her what was wrong - then felt guilty for verbally attacking him - she refused to to let him take her to the med centre on the grounds that she had already _called_ the offices and been advised she was fine; for her own protection, she was horrified at the thought of seeking out a physician because, because - _distress;_ the word echoed through her head, she seemed not to hear it, but to feel it in her muscles, in her blood; _distress._

She almost interpreted it as a tiny, foggy voice reaching out for aid, but that seemed unreal - she tried to eat, and kept very little down, and she went to bed early, Han hovering, but not too closely, wary of being snapped at again. The cruel thing - _cruel,_ she called it cruel because it felt like a waking nightmare - was how easily she fell asleep, even if it felt feverish; she had some awareness of tossing and turning, and some awareness of Han finally crawling in bed next to her and feeling her head - _Leia, are you alright?_ \- _I don't think so,_ she had answered honestly, barely awake - _leave me alone._ She wasn't angry with him, when she asked; she just wanted to try and sleep, sleep it off, sleep off the - _distress_ -

In her hazy nightmares, she had an intravenous drip in her arm, and Han sat next to her, touching her hair, resting his hand on her shoulder - or Han stood in the hall with her father, his face white as a sheet, and almost abruptly, shaken, Leia realized, Leia realized - _fuck; the vision from the Jedi temple - this is it? Why - why does this have to be it?_

In the middle of the night, she startled awake, shaking, dragged out of semi-sleep by some grim, dark realization; her head ached and spun while her vision adjusted to the darkness, and she bent forward, her hand flying to her ribs, brushing gingerly at her side. She was hurting, really hurting; the dull, peripheral pain that had flickered a few times in her office was magnified, acute. She opened her mouth to help herself breathe, speechless, and shivered, a wave of nausea slamming over her, head-to-toe dizziness - she reached out for one of the bedposts and swung herself out of bed lest she vomit on the sheets, and rushed unsteadily into the 'fresher.

The light flickered on as soon as it sensed her movement; there wasn't much in her stomach, and retching hurt her throat, seemed to hurt her back, even, as she leaned shakily over the sink. Looking up to check her reflection, she recoiled, noting dark circles under her eyes, and hot, red patches of fever marring an otherwise waxy, pale complexion. The pain in her abdomen subsided a little, and she slumped forward, cradling her forehead for a moment - _no, no, no - oh, god -_

She clenched her teeth and tried to take a deep breath, somehow both alert, and vaguely delirious - she was physically in pain, but it wasn't just localized, focused discomfort, she felt it in her bones, in her heart, ethereal, compromising her emotionally; her soul felt weak, whimpering and shrinking from something dark and, and - _dying,_ the word was cold and final - inside her.

Leia straightened up and grasped for a cup, mouthing a swear when she dropped it with a loud clatter. She winced harshly, and then stepped back, reaching for a robe to pull around herself - she was cold, even though she wore a soft t-shirt and shorts, and as she slipped on the robe, pulling tight, she leaned back against the 'fresher door and bent forward, her hand moving down between her legs.

"Leia?" Han asked groggily - she heard him shifting in the bedroom, pillows rustling as he grabbed for her.

She didn't say anything, preoccupied with assessing the state of things between her thighs - the state of things - she had been so focused on the nausea that it was just now dawning on her, the wetness there - she caught her breath sharply, and swallowed hard, her chest tightening painfully, knuckles still, and shoving tight against the inside of her thigh - she couldn't bring herself to look, and for a moment, she couldn't bring herself to answer Han, even as he worriedly called out again - she had the completely unfounded, striking fear for a moment that he would be angry.

She tilted her head back, black spots peppering her vision - if she didn't breathe, she'd pass out - or maybe she'd pass out anyway, her abdomen was searing with pain, and it was reverberating through her being, poisoning her -

"Leia."

Han's voice was closer now, right next to her, hushed rather than loud, and fraught with tense concern. His tone was anxious, strained, and though Leia didn't look at him right away, only lowered her head to listen, she sensed the urgency in expression. He reached out and touched her shoulder, holding it very loosely.

"Hey," he said faintly. "Hey, there's blood," he broke off, licking his lips apprehensively. "There's blood on the sheets."

Leia nodded, closing her eyes tightly. She felt frozen, afraid of scaring him, unable to decide what to do herself. She tucked her shoulders in, making herself smaller, and slid her hand out from between her legs looking only through her lashes, then sharply turning her head away, looking at Han, only peripherally able to see the viscous red spilling over her fingers.

Han looked at her in alarm, stepping forward and seizing her hand. He carelessly let it brush against his chest, and narrowed his eyes, his lips moving soundlessly for a moment.

"Fuck," he swore.

His hand ran over her arm and down to her abdomen, fingers brushing over her ribs in a short, poorly controlled exploration, cluelessly searching for the source - Leia swatted his hand away gently, clutching his wrist in her hand. She tried to take a deep breath, and slid down a little, her knees buckling; instead of mustering something calm or reassuring to say to him, or finding some directive to give, she only choked out -

"It hurts, Han. It hurts."

It seemed like an eternity, that he stood there as if petrified, as if made of stone, unable to process what was happening, unable to react to the obvious emergency at hand - in reality, it was mere seconds; he caught her arm to keep her from collapsing, and turned sharply, snatching a towel off of one of their racks. Uncertain only for a moment, he swallowed the terror that clawed at him, helped her towards the sani, tossing the towel down on it. She sat down heavily, and almost immediately doubled over, arms encircling her abdomen. Han ran his hand over her hair, swallowing hard - it wasn't a lot of blood, in there on the sheets, but it was - it was enough -

Her skin was burning to the touch, sweaty and slick, and there were thin, harsh white lines around her lips indicating she was biting back expressions of pain, or, or -

A soft keening sound escaped her lips and Han swallowed hard, his mouth dry. What did he - what was he supposed to - ?

"What do I do?" he asked out loud, trying to sound as steady as possible. He pushed his knuckles gently against her cheek, feeling her fever again, and swore quietly.

"You can't," Leia mumbled tensely - unhelpfully, and his brow furrowed roughly.

"I can't what?"

"Do anything," she gasped, cringing. She closed her eyes, and shook her head violently. She pressed her knees together hard. "You can't do...anything."

She shivered - she felt - as if she was being clawed it, like talons were ripping at her from the inside, scared, isolated - she reached out instinctively with her power, and then wrenched away from the storm inside her - _irreparable distress,_ was what her feelings told her, and a part of her screamed - _aren't you powerful enough to stop this - !_

Han stood, hastily running his hand over his forehead, his lips brushing her jaw and nose as he stood, offering her soft, quick, desperate kisses.

"Don't move," he said. "'M gonna call a med transport."

Leia said nothing. She moved forward a little, and Han dropped back down into a crouch, gently stopping her.

"I don't need a transport," she managed.

"Tough luck, Sweetheart," he said softly. "Be still, Leia," he said awkwardly, as if that might - help, as if if things might just - stay put, and stay okay, if she didn't move. "I'll get you some help."

She dipped her head roughly, shaking it back and forth.

"It won't matter," she whispered hoarsely. "I can't - it's not," she broke off, biting her lip hard.

Han touched her face, tipping it up to his. He took a deep breath.

"It's gonna be okay, Leia," he soothed. "It'll be okay."

She shook her head, breaking her chin out of his grip, doubling over again. Han stood, torn between making the call, and staying with her until she stabilized a little - but her health was - it seemed like her health was on the line. He swallowed hard, and stepped back abruptly, turning sharply on his heel and heading back into the bedroom - lazily, lights flickered on, and Han stormed into - first her office, then the living room, looking for his comm - Leia followed a few moments later, shuffling to the sofa with her robe hanging off one shoulder, a towel in her hands.

He fumbled with the things in his hands, distracted by her, unable to find his comm - "Damn it!" he swore violently, and Leia flinched, and he abandoned the search for a moment, not angry at her. She sat down gingerly on the sofa, tucking part of the towel under her, and shook her head, her hands clasped, pressed between her legs as she arched forward a little, lips trembling. She was white as a sheet, blood draining from her face even as he looked at her, and Han sat on the kaffe table, leaning forward to grab her hand. She stiffened and started to flinch away, the only indication that he'd inadvertently grabbed her bloody hand, and he ignored how squeamish it was. He held her hand tighter, covering it with both of his.

"Leia," he started.

She squeezed his hand, but then jerked her hand away, her lashes fluttering.

"I," she started, her voice raw. "I can't," she broke off, her voice breaking, words dissolving into a harsh sob: "I can't do anything, Han, I can't help it."

He swallowed hard, unsure what she meant - he understood, on a primal level, that bleeding was not right, not right now; he understood she was suffering, he knew he needed to get her help - he verged on carrying her down to the speeder and taking her in himself, but he didn't trust himself to fly in this state - he needed - he needed his comm -

Leia gave a soft groan, curling in on herself and leaning back, drawn one leg up towards her on the sofa. He started forward as if to take her arm and steady her, and he caught sight of the towel she'd brought, his jaw tightening - he wasn't - accustomed to that much blood, outside of the battle field. Han's heart leap into his throat, about the same time the door chimes screamed through the apartment, startling him, eliciting some sharp, frightened rage - _who the hell could possibly -_

"It's Luke," Leia offered weakly - and Luke was about the only person Han would have opened the door for at this hour, in the face of this - Leia lowered her lashes, nodding - _let him in, Han -_

Frantic, Han went to the door, nearly reaching it open, and on the threshold, Luke was visibly shaking and as pale as Leia, his eyes sharp and on high alert.

"Han," he snapped, without pleasantries. "I don't want to intrude but what's - something's - what's wrong with - Leia," he demanded, his shoulders collapsing. Han stepped aside to let him in, accidentally slamming the door, unable to waste time grumbling about their connection. "She's - she can't shield," Luke said rapidly. "It feels like she's dying," he admitted hoarsely.

Han seized his elbow and drew him towards the kitchen, steadying himself as best as possible - bracing against any suggestion that Leia, god forbid, might be dying - that's not what this was, that's not - he was gripped with such unbelievable fear for a moment that his vision swam, and Luke grabbed both of Han's shoulders, alarmed at his sudden loss of colour.

"Han," he said loudly.

"Yeah," Han said roughly, shaking himself back to the present. "Yeah, 'M okay, kid," he said hastily.

"What's wrong?" Luke asked earnestly.

Han shrugged harshly.

"Leia's," he fumbled. "Leia's not okay - can you call a med transport for me?" he asked rapidly. "You got a comm on you? Can't find mine - just - call," he said distractedly, waving his hand at Luke and leaving him in the hall - he knew the kid could be trusted; Luke would see to that first, without asking questions, and Han could focus his attention on Leia.

He returned to the living room. Leia had her face pressed into the arm of the couch, breathing shallowly, her hand curled up and flexing shakily next to her. He sat back down on the kaffe table and leaned forward, his jaw clenched tightly. He took the edges of the towel that was twisted around her, and gently moved one of her knees, tucking it between her legs. He set his shoulders, and ran his hand over her hip, hoping his touch was soothing, and then reaching up for her hand. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to sound steady, and in control.

"Luke's gonna call a med transport," he said gruffly, his tone harsher than he meant, only because of the effort it took to keep his voice from shaking. "Leia, look at me. Look at me, Sweetheart."

She shifted her head, and looked, her body still contorted as if she thought the smaller she made herself, the less it would hurt - Han swallowed hard, struggling with that dry feeling in his mouth again. She parted her lips, sitting up a little, and withdrew her hand from his, shifting to face him. She hunched forward, her brow furrowed with concentration, her lips faintly blue - Han thought she was hyperventilating; she clearly wasn't breathing right. He grasped at her hand again, and she pulled away - Han kept grasping at her hand, and she kept shaking him off - she flexed her fingers as if reaching for him, though, her wrist taught, and shivering. At a loss for what she wanted, he slid his hand into hers again, fingers twisting against hers, only to have her wrench it away, shaking her head wordlessly.

"Leia," he soothed quietly. "I'm right here - what are you doing?" he asked tensely - he tried not to take it too personally, but it struck him hard, to have her keep ripping her hand away - he knew she must need him, must want him with her, else she wouldn't have followed him when he briefly left her in the 'fresher - and yet - he tried to take her hand in both of his, making it safer, warmer, and her nails clawed against his palm; she shook her head roughly.

"Stop," she told him.

He bit the inside of his mouth, looking at her helplessly.

"What do you want?" he asked, glancing at her grasping hand - there seemed to be such purpose to the motion, such insistent movement. "What are you doing?"

"'M - 'M," sh stammered huskily, struggling to speak. "I'm trying - to hold - on."

Han looked at her tiredly, his eyes reddening. He leaned forward and gingerly placed his palm on her forehead, the way he'd often seen Luke do, in a sign of calming comfort - her skin was still so feverish, her breath hitching harshly. He trailed his hands along her temple - _hold on to what, Sweetheart?_ \- and moved closer touching his forehead to hers.

"Can you just hold on to me?" he asked.

Leia closed her eyes, and finally let him take her hand - seizing it, her grip tight, and aching. She grit her teeth and grimaced uncomfortably - _I don't need to hold on to you, Han,_ she thought miserably - there were things breaking in her, sinews coming apart - _you aren't slipping through my fingers._

"My head hurts," she moaned out loud.

"Hang in there," Han soothed halfheartedly, unsure what he was comforting her about, haunted by the way she looked, by how much pain she was obviously in - Leia lurched forward, bracing her hands on his knees, and Han caught the back of her head in his hands, holding her forehead lightly against his chest.

He needed help, he needed - _kriff,_ if the kid hadn't shown up, thank the Force for Luke -

His brother-in-law came into the room, his face pale, and swallowed hard, his eyes on his sister.

"They'll be here," he began, "soon as they can - "

Leia shook her head, mumbling a resistance. She didn't want to be hauled out in a transport; her living quarters were publicly known, at this point, there would be press, rumors, and she was already so fragile - the last thing she wanted, last thing she could take, was Media attention -

"Leia, you need a medic," Luke said, calm but firm. "You're going in the transport."

Han looked between them, and Leia didn't look up, not for a moment; when she did, she was clearly thinking of something else - by the second, she was losing the will to argue, because all of her attention was vigorously focused on the ache in her, the clawing sensation, the desperate instinct to survive coupled with a choking sense of futility - soft, silken tendrils of her power swirled through her, and when she blinked, in the blackness of her lashes she could see shimmery threads fraying - _there's nothing I can do -_

"Luke," she snapped hoarsely. "Luke, can't you _do_ something?" she demanded, her voice cracking.

She sat up a little and bowed her head, and Luke stood numbly, his hands at his sides - his heart pulled in his chest, swollen with shared pain he could feel superficially, but not as deeply as what she was feeling; he understood what was happening, and he grieved for her; but that power was beyond his knowledge, and beyond nature in itself - interference with the life cycle willed by the Force -

"I can't, Leia," he said softly, his own voice trembling. "I don't have that kind of power. Neither of us does."

She sucked in her breath and gave a soft cry, muffled in the back of her hand. She shook her head, and Luke leaned forward to rest his hand on her shoulder, his lips moving soundlessly - she accepted the touch for a moment, and then shrank away from him. Luke set his jaw, and then glanced at Han.

"You're," he started heavily, nodding at Han's, "uh, bleeding."

Han blinked uncertainly, and reached up to touch the place Luke was looking at - he must have touched his face after touching the sheets, or Leia, or she must have - he shrugged, brushing it off.

"S'not mine," he muttered. "It's her."

He looked away from Luke before he could realize that Leia wasn't visibly bleeding, and the injury was more internal, more private - he bent forward to stroke Leia's hair back, and she tilted her head, seeking the comfort of the touch. She leaned forward again, grasping for Han, and he gave her his hand, moving from the kaffe table, to the sofa next to her - he slid his arm around her, and lifted his chin, swallowing hard as he caught Luke's eye again.

"Call Bail," he said grimly. "I want him there for 'er," he said.

Leia pushed the heel of her hand against Han's chest.

"Don't," she protested, stumbling over herself, the words slurring - "Don't put him through this."

"Call him, Luke," Han reiterated, giving the kid a short, determined look - and again, Luke departed to make a quiet call, tacitly agreeing with Han that it was in her best interests - and Bail would want to know; he would want to be there.

Leia bent over until her nose was nearly touching her knees, hardly able to cope with her aching head, the returning barrage of nausea, the piercing pain in her abdomen that felt like torture, severe, acute bursts of agony that reminded her, over and over again, something was being ripped away from her - she felt shock, despair, every ounce of what was probably normal physical discomfort amplified by her unique connection to the ethereal world, succumbing to a visceral, tangible, soul-deep torment that could only be interpreted as the loss of life - life that had been so tenuous, so helpless, so wanted.

"I'm sorry, Han," she said, nearly incoherently, nearly inaudible, and Han tilted his head at her wordlessly, uncomprehending - _sorry for what?_ \- but he felt it was best not to say anything right now, just be here - he knew this was bad, bad - but they had access to the galaxy's premiere medical care, and she'd be fine. She'd be okay, surely - she and the baby.

She straightened up and turned towards him as the pain struck her intensely again - seizing, brutal contractions, her body actively, personally betraying her - Luke bowed his head, a stricken grimace fixed stiffly on his face, privy not to her physical pain, but to the wrenching emotional suffering in the Force - if there was anything he could do, he would - god, it was suffocating, and it was worse for her - not Leia dying, not Leia; her baby. Luke felt friction in her aura, like the audible halt of a heartbeat, and Leia wrenched away from Han with a harsh, raw sob, gasping for breath - Han went after her in a gentle rush, bending forward to try and catch her eye, trying and hold her steady -

He tucked her head into his shoulder, wrapping an arm around her protectively, and her shoulders shook violently with silent, gasping sobs. Leia knew he was there; she wanted him there, but she couldn't breathe; she abruptly realized that for the past weeks on end, she had nursed a soft, lullaby of a hum, in her mind, in her heart, and that fluttery, steady hum was gone, silenced; a candle doused - she opened her mouth to scream, but was unable to make a sound; the pain subsided, then peaked, peaked, _hard,_ and she was too withdrawn to respond to Han, too overwhelmed, so overwhelmed - that when her vision went black, it was welcome respite.

* * *

It was not the first time Han found himself in charge of a situation he had not anticipated, but it was the first time he had felt so thoroughly out of his element that he was somewhat slow to react to stimulus. The only concern he had was Leia's well being, and there was a significant amount of things going on that he point-blank did not understand.

The medical transport had ferried them to Coruscant's elite private medical facility with complete efficiency, alleviating Han's panic somewhat in that they revived Leia almost immediately upon hooking her up to fluids, and oxygen – that faint blue around her lips dissipated quickly, and the tightness in Han's chest subsided somewhat – but the living medics were all tight lips and tense brows, muttered comments that didn't sound good, and the attending droids were so clinical, business like in the way they nudged Han out of the way to treat her.

Luke had followed in Han's speeder, having offered to pick Bail up on the way over for an expedited arrival – Han hadn't gotten the chance to speak to Bail, and he vaguely wish he'd made the call himself –

Everything in the treatment suite seemed loud and intensely overwhelming; Han hovered, allowed in with the warning that he ought to stay out of the way, and so he fidgeted and moved to make sure he could see Leia's face at all times, give her visual on him – that should reassure her – her face was so pale, _so pale._ He pinned his arm against his chest and then pierced his forearm with his elbow, shoving his knuckles against his chin, watching – the primary concern seemed to be stabilizing whatever reaction her body was having to – to this, whatever this was.

Her obstetrician was across the planet on a humanitarian mission, and Leia was left in the hands of the on-duty medics – he had faith in their abilities, but he knew she'd want Doctor Mellis; she had vetted so many options before she settled on Mellis –

"Is she allergic to any medications?" one of the attendings asked Han, and he shook his head wordlessly.

"No, but you," he started, and then noticed one of the human medics near Leia's elbow, verging on re-administering a new IV - the last one had been placed while she was unconscious – "Hey, stop!" Han snapped, pushing forward. "You have to – you can't just stick her with a needle," he said, raising his voice.

The head touched his arm, and Han shook it off, giving him a menacing look.

"Look, just let me stand there, let me block her view of it," he snapped.

One of the nurses just beckoned to him, and he stepped in front of her, leaning over Leia's face so his shoulders and torso completely obscured the nurse's actions – Leia twisted her head back and forth, closing her eyes. Han smoothed his hand over her hair.

"S'just an IV," he said. "More fluids, Doc says you're dehydrated," he muttered, catching her hand and squeezing it.

"Temperature is decreasing – high was at one-oh-five, stabilized in the transport," one of the droids related, and Han tried to block it out – the medical information sent chills up his spine.

Han touched her lips with his thumb, leaning heavily on the railing of the bed.

"Leia?" he called gently, trying to get her to open her eyes. "Leia, look at me."

She did, her lashes trembling, and kept shaking her head.

"You're gonna be okay," he promised.

She sucked in her breath sharply, and Han figured the IV must have been set. He kept looking at her calmly, stroking her hair back again.

"No, no," she whispered, blinking at him, her lips shaking, "no, it's not okay," she said earnestly, trying to make him understand – _it isn't okay, Han, it died, and I can't – I couldn't – help it –_

She looked, for a moment, as if she would burst into tears again, and then she jerked her head back, her brow furrowing tensely.

"Leia," Han murmured, his hands drifted to her shoulders.

Her lips moved, and her chest heaved rapidly, and without thinking, he shook her a little roughly, his eyes widening.

" _Leia_ ," he shouted, and turned his head abruptly. " _HEY_!"

"Sir," one of the nurses said, shoving her hand against his chest. "Get _back_."

Han found his hands ripped off Leia while the medics swarmed in front of him, and while he stood there for a moment, choked for air suddenly, a younger female grabbed his shoulder, firm but soothing, and pushed him towards the corner - she was shorter than him, but commanding, and when she spoke, Han was taken aback for a moment because – Corellian, she was speaking Corellian.

The nurse said his title again – _General Solo_ – using the Corellian word, and inflection, and Han's eyes snapped to her attentively. Like most citizens in the galaxy he was automatically more amenable to listening to people from his own homeworld.

"You need to let them work," she explained, still speaking carefully in their native tongue. "Princess Leia is going to be alright."

Han jutted his hand out at the scene, looking past her again – listening – he heard words like _cardiac_ and _system shock_ and _blood pressure_ – and started forward again, his throat locking up – what the fuck was happening, what was _happening?_ She had been fine yesterday and, and – _it feels like she's dying_ – Han would strangle Luke for saying those words –

"She doesn't look alright!" he burst out, careless of his volume.

"I know, I know," the nurse placated. "Let me give you some information, General – "

"Don't call me that, call me Han," he snapped, distracted.

"Han," she said. She took a deep breath, and seemed to think if she kept doing so, Han would calm down, too. "Your wife is having a miscarriage," she said bluntly. She waited for a moment, and then continued: "She's suffering from a high fever, and some possible symptoms of sepsis – "

"Sepsis?" Han interrupted sharply. "That's battlefield shit, she's not in a war – "

"Those are just her symptoms," the nurse said. "She's also in shock. In an effort to be honest with you, I'll admit we're not sure what is causing such an extreme reaction to this; miscarriages are not commonly severe," she took another deep breath, but Han broke in.

"Well, well," he started, floundering. "She's – she's Force sensitive, does that matter? Is it different?" he demanded.

The nurse hesitated.

"I suppose if she is hypersensitive to emotions, her current condition could be a severe somatic reaction to grief," she allowed, looking over her shoulder hesitantly. "The two-onebee is regulating her heart rhythm – she's calming down."

"Her heart?" Han choked, reaching up to claw at his neck – hardly realizing he was doing it. "What happened to her – you said this was a – " he suddenly trailed off, his eyes widening, as if it had just sunk in – she'd said it was a – _miscarriage_.

"She had a minor cardiac episode," the nurse said quietly. "Somewhat similar to what people feel when they have a bad scare – we're stabilizing her, Han; she's going to be – "

"Is she dying?" Han interrupted, blurting out the question in a hoarse rush – he looked wild, distracted, and he wanted to shove the nurse aside, no matter how helpful she was trying to be, and get back to Leia's side – if something happened to her, and he wasn't right there – fuck, if something happened to her and he _was_ there –

"She isn't dying," the nurse said calmly. "Women survive this all the time."

Han looked at her blankly for a moment, and then started to say – _but her mother_ – and then stopped, because Breha's problems were unrelated to Leia; Leia wasn't her blood relative – and then his fear grew greater for a moment, as he thought – _but her mother!_ – Padmé Naberrie had died giving birth to Leia - !

Han put his hand over his mouth, looking over the nurse's shoulder, and she held up her hand to him patiently, retreating to talk to the head doctor. He looked up, studied Han for a moment, and then waved him over. Han went quickly, standing first at the medic's side, and then shoving past to get to Leia's shoulder – her breathing was soft again, but seemed normal, and she had a little colour back.

"Patient is stabilizing," the two-onebee said pleasantly. "Bleeding controlled."

Han reached down to touch Leia's forehead, running his fingers along her hairline. She turned her head towards the feeling, her lips pursed, almost hiding her face in the pillow. At Han's shoulder, the doctor cleared his throat.

"General Solo," he began, and Han forced down an urge to hit him – his words were quiet, and he stepped back, indicating Han should as well.

Reluctant to leave Leia, Han hesitated – but did, watching sharply as the nurse who'd spoken with him took his place near Leia's side, leaning down and speaking to her kindly – Han trusted that nurse. He turned his attention to the medic stiffly, keeping an eye on the rest of them out of the corner of his eye.

"I'd like to let her get some rest, before we proceed with anything else," he offered slowly. "She's stable right now, nothing critical," he explained. "Her body needs a chance to settle and recover. I want to give her a dosage of intravenous bacta to reinforce her system before we do anything invasive. Do I have your permission to give her a sedative?"

Han blinked at him roughly.

"If she wants it," he said, a little lamely, and the medic cleared his throat.

"She's having trouble focusing," he said. "It's common, with high fevers and shock."

Han stared at him – and then cleared his throat roughly. He was – _right;_ he was Leia's medical proxy; he was her husband, that was his job – he looked over at her – she did need to sleep, and she was so – she'd be so heartbroken – he wanted her to rest, and if that was best –

He nodded, swallowing hard.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah, that's okay, but I'm gonna stay with her."

"Fine," the medic agreed. "We'll move her into a recovery room. I also perform an ultrasound to confirm that she has miscarried," he said. "I can do that prior to, or after the sedative – whatever you think is best for her."

Han's mouth was dry again and that – that he didn't feel comfortable–

He shook his head.

"I got to ask her," he mumbled, starting forward.

"General – "

"Move," Han barked, pushing past him.

He stepped up to Leia's side, bending down. He rested his arms on the pillow next to her, and studied her white face for a moment, waiting until she opened her eyes and looked at him tiredly – her eyes were bloodshot, swimming with tears, and wary, and he swallowed hard, bracing himself.

"Sweetheart," he said steadily, forcing his confidence into his voice. "Doc wants to do a sono," he said tightly. "You want 'em to knock you out first?"

He heard one of the nurses make a noise of disbelief at the way he asked – and no doubt, she threw him a disapproving look, too, but Han knew Leia, he knew she needed things blunt sometimes, and more importantly, she knew him, and she knew his lack of eloquence was never to be confused with a lack of compassion.

She parted her lips, reaching up to grasp at his hands.

"I can't feel it," she murmured, a little dazed. She compressed her lips tightly, squeezing his fingers. "'M sorry," she mumbled.

"Why do you keep sayin' that?" Han asked edgily, reigning in his frustration. "Leia, this isn't your fault."

She compressed her lips, and he looked up tiredly, nodding his head.

"Do it," he muttered. "Go ahead."

He tightened his grip on Leia's hand while a nurse and a two-onebee attended to the sono machine; he kept Leia's attention on him. She breathed in and out steadily, almost soothing herself. He offered Leia a smile, well aware it was hollow, and his heart slammed uncomfortably in his chest – _miscarriage_ \- the world felt foreign, and incomprehensible – that sort of thing…didn't happen with modern medicine – did it? Not anymore.

"Your Highness, could you turn towards me," requested a nurse.

Leia winced; Han pushed her hair back – she hated being called by her title in private situations like this, she hated how ostracized it made her feel – nevertheless, she shifted almost instinctively, running her hand down to her abdomen – Han noticed she was still in the t-shirt she'd been wearing, same clothes same – his eyes wandered – blood on the hem of her shirt, blood on her thighs – he swallowed hard, and looked up to her abdomen, narrowing his eyes.

Leia turned her head into his hand, away from the screen, and he was reminded – his ears buzzed, as if he were even physically transported back – of the first time he'd gone with her to see this, to see the image on the screen, humming and _there_ and living.

She reached out and gripped the metal bar of the bed, brushing her fingers through to clutch at his shirt. Han looked away from the sono – he didn't know what he was looking at anyway – and down to see her struggling with tears, biting her lip over and over to try and keep it steady.

She closed her eyes, tears spilling down her cheeks, and Han was preoccupied enough with her distress to let the medical team do their work, only able to heart, faintly, one of them mumble – _no heartbeat detectable_.

Leia didn't open her eyes, and Han only vaguely gave a nod when the two-onebee informed him it was administering the sedative into her IV pouch – he just stood, leaned down near Leia's head, running his fingers through her hair and over her temple, his throat tight, jaw muscles burning – the activity was calming down, and he felt so – so useless, like he'd failed her somehow.

He looked up, shrugging his shoulders roughly, trying to ease the pressure in his chest.

"You can't stop it?" he demanded hoarsely. "You can't do somethin'?"

The Corellian nurse, who was gently sponging off Leia's abdomen, and running a warm cloth over her skin to wipe away some of the blood, looked up hesitantly, glancing first sideways at the medic, and then back at Han – she shook her head sympathetically.

"It just happens sometimes," she said quietly.

Han looked away form her, back down at Leia. She seemed half-asleep now, tears still fresh on her cheeks; he ran his thumb under her eyes to wipe them away, rubbing them into his fingertips. He studied her protectively, trying to quell a rage that swelled in him – rage at no one in particular – and coping with the dawning understanding that she was going to need him so badly, and he – he needed help; he knew he need it, and he had every intention of asking for it.

* * *

There was some confusion, when Luke initially arrived with Bail Organa at his side, concerning where Leia had ended up - they were first directed to the emergency treatment suites, and then, some time later, a flustered, overworked orderly came to tell them she had been moved to a recovery suite, and led them to a separate wing.

"Recovery's good, right?" Luke asked. "Better than emergency treatment?"

"Recovery, or intensive care?" Bail asked the orderly.

She replied that Leia was _not_ in the intensive care unit, and apologetically told them she had no relevant medical information; she was little more than an assistant, and messenger with the Med Center. She led them to an antechamber to the suite, allowing them unfettered privileges because they were both documented family members, and left them alone - and there both Luke and Bail waited.

Luke stood, and for a while, Bail stood with him - but as time passed he chose to sit, and leaned forward, his elbows braced on his knees. The antechamber walls were shining and sleek, painted a crisp, shimmering white; the air carried the faint scent of bacta, clean, but eerily so - Bail had never liked the smell of bacta, not that anyone was particularly partial to it - but he thought his strong aversion was likely due to how often Breha had been in hospitals, how often she'd been in a tank full of the stuff, nauseous and coughing up the residue of it for days after -

Luke paced a little, his face white - but Bail noticed his colour had come back a little; he was no longer as bloodless as he had looked when he arrived to ferry Bail to the Med Center. Bail chose to take that as a good sign; he understood, somewhat, that Luke was emotionally connected to Leia, and that he'd suffered from a physiological reaction to her heartache. If Luke was feeling better - even a little better - the Viceroy had to believe that boded well for his daughter. He leaned back heavily, using the wall behind him as support, closing his eyes not for rest, but to block out the harsh lighting that always seemed to be present in hospitals - he looked disheveled, and worried, and he was filled with an old sadness that he'd coped with long ago.

It was too familiar, all too familiar; _Breha,_ he thought, _Breha, darling_ \- Luke hadn't said anything specifically, but Bail's own personal experience didn't allow him much time for wasteful speculation. If Han was having Leia seen by medics because she was bleeding, experiencing severe abdominal pain - well, the Viceroy of Alderaan was no fool; he'd seen it - he'd _lived_ it - too many times before.

His head, and his heart, were heavy, and he as restless with the desire to hear something, anything - from a medic, from Han - or to see Leia, and offer her some little comfort if he could -

"Should've asked," Luke muttered tensely. "Should've asked to speak to a medic, 'stead of just standing here - sorry, Bail," he apologized.

Bail shook his head.

"Best not to harass them," he said quietly - but Luke's words were prophetic, almost; as their exchange finished, an obstetrics specialist droids quietly exited the recovery room, the hum of its machinery startlingly loud in the silence.

Bail stood hastily, and the droid paused, its head piece rotating on an elegantly designed neck. It inclined itself towards them a little, in a small bow.

"I will alert General Solo to the presence of visitors," it said pleasantly, its metallic voice infused with the soothing tenor often programmed into obstetrics droids - it laid a mechanical finger on a control board fixed into its chest, activating a signal within the recovery room.

"Is Leia - " started Luke, but the droid merely raised its hand calmly.

"You may ask General Solo your questions," it said politely. "My programming allows for release of information only to the mother and father."

Luke bit his tongue, compressing his lips and swallowing hard. He stepped aside to let the droid pass, glaring after it distractedly as it departed - left alone with Leia's father, he half-halfheartedly started to pace again, frowning, shaking his head.

"We're family, though," he said tensely.

"Yes," Bail said heavily. "That programming is a safeguard against interpersonal conflict," he explained quietly. "The obstetrics droids often caused severe philosophical divides in families by revealing information of a controversial nature - a couple wanted to explain a loss as a miscarriage, when it was actually an abortion," he shook his head, sighing. "This sort of thing is...very personal."

Luke said nothing, stopping to look at the door - Han did not immediately come out, and though Luke worried, and wanted answers, he tried to remain patient - Han was affected by this, too, and not, as in other situations, simply because he was worked up over an injury to Leia: he was personally, deeply connected to the loss here.

"Is she alright, Luke?" Bail ventured. "I know you don't know specifics, but," he trailed off - anything, any sense Luke had of her state would be - hopefully - be comforting, give his anxious worry some relief.

Luke shook his head.

"I haven't," he started, and grimaced. "I haven't - reached out, ah, to her," he confessed. "I don't want to interfere with - and what I did feel was," he broke off again, ashamed to admit that he didn't want to experience what she'd been feeling again, not even on a smaller, tangential scale. He flushed, and avoided looking at Bail, but he sensed the Viceroy didn't fault him; he merely nodded, and took a deep breath.

"There's a chance they might have been able to intervene," he began. "There was one time, with my wife," he trailed off, noticing the look on Luke's face - miserable; resigned - and the example he'd been about to give concerning Breha was futile, anyway; the doctors in Aldera had delayed a miscarriage that had ultimately been a stillbirth, and in a choice between the two unspeakable things, Bail would never, _never_ want to see Leia go through the latter; it had been his and Breha's last straw.

"Bail," began Luke tightly, "I felt - "

He was interrupted by the opening of the door, and Han emerged from the room without a word, turning to pull it shut with intense concentration on ensuring it made no sound at all. He lingered at the door for a moment, his back to them, and then slowly turned around, his arms hanging loosely at his side, until he lifted them stiffly, and folded them, one hand going up to rub roughly at his jaw - five o'clock shadow already started to darken his face. He started to say something, and then fell silent again, looking down at his feet with a furrowed brow - Bail noted how exhausted he looked, how withdrawn; he had never seen dark circles under Han's eyes before, but they were there now, pronounced and ominous.

He pressed the edge of his hand against his lips, gritting his teeth, and then lowered his arm slightly, lifting his head and clearing his throat.

"There was, um, nothin' they could do," he said finally. He shook his head and then lifted his shoulders tightly. "Nothin'," he repeated - and he couldn't believe it, each time he thought about it he was bewildered, and angry; how was it possible that here, at the epicenter of galactic progress and advancement, there was _nothing -!._

Bail sat forward, his back straight.

"She had a miscarriage?" he asked quietly - such a wretchedly familiar word, and it never got easier for him; only harder.

Han blinked roughly a few times, and grunted.

"Mmmhm," he mumbled. "Yeah."

Bail compressed his lips.

"Does she know?" he asked heavily - it seemed like there was an obvious answer to that, but sometimes, Breha had so aggressively insulated herself with hope, she had needed to be let down easy when she woke up.

Han's eyes moved uncertainly, processing the question.

"Yeah," he muttered. "She knows."

He frowned sharply, suddenly unsure - it had seemed like she was aware, seemed like she understood; but Leia had been out of it, not really answering direct questions, at least not as far as he understood. She'd been half sedated when they did the sono, and she kept telling him it was hopeless, useless - she knew, surely she - he was gripped with an acute dread at the idea of having to tell her, when she woke up, but next to him, Luke shook his head, first rubbing his hands over his face and then reaching out to squeeze Han's forearm tightly.

"She knows," he assured him flatly.

Han nodded - Luke could be trusted on that count - and even if he couldn't be, deep down, Han knew that Leia understood. Leia understood - more deeply than he himself ever could, he suspected.

The three men stood quietly for a moment, Han shifting and turning his head back to look at the tightly closed door.

"'M sorry it took me a minute to...come out here," he said a little roughly. "Wanted to make sure she was really asleep, 'cause y'know...don't really wanna leave her alone," he muttered.

Bail nodded, and Luke stepped closer, lowering his voice.

"Is there anything you need?" he asked earnestly. "I can - run an errand, tell someone," he began to list things as helpfully as possible, and Han looked at him a little blankly - he was slow to respond to things, slow to process; Luke could tell he was intimidated by the sheer volume of things he was having to decide on right now, the little things seemed like stressors - Han tried to ask himself: _what would Leia be doing right now, if she were managing the crisis...?_

With every intention of helping, Bail spoke up -

"Han, if you think it's best, Tavska should be notified as early as possible," he offered astutely. "Evaan as well, to direct any pressured attention away from Leia's absence."

Han's brow darkened, but he said nothing for a moment, thinking that over - Bail was right, and Leia would think like that, too; the parts of him that usually thought it was shallow to think of politics and damage control during times of personal heartache suddenly realized that managing the public was key in giving her a safe place to grieve, a private refuge - and why hadn't he ever realized that before, that half of Leia's political games weren't manipulative for career's sake, but for personal health?

"Uh, yeah," Han said gruffly, clearing his throat - he jolted himself, and wished he was capable of something more concrete than _'yeah.'_ "Tavska can...tell Mon and Carlist," he trailed off, and swore - "Fuck, she...she just told them, today. Earlier. Yesterday." He looked around wildly for a chrono, and Bail quietly directed him to a wall - yesterday, then; it was late, long after midnight.

Han blinked, and then cleared his throat again, more determined. He turned to Luke, and Luke was already rallying -

"I'll do that, Han," he assured him. "I'll let Chewie know, too. I'll make sure he's - "

"Can you have 'im make some - he makes this tea, Leia likes it, it helps her...for when we get home," he said, speaking in disconnected fragments. "Don't know when we're - just ask him to make some?"

Luke nodded, and stepped back - and Han, suddenly struck with a grim realization, reached out and grabbed his arm, meeting his eyes firmly - steeling himself, for what had to be the hundredth time tonight.

"The sheets," he muttered. "You got to take care of the sheets for me," he said, grimacing - he didn't want Leia _ever_ seeing them again; _he_ didn't want to see them again -

"Sure, Han," Luke promised tightly. "You want them - um, washed?" he fumbled.

"No," Han said curtly. "Get rid of 'em. Burn them," he ordered.

Luke swallowed hard, and nodded. Lacking anymore direction from Han, he squeezed Han's shoulder again once, turned a nod towards Bail, and took his leave - and Han didn't say another word until his footsteps had faded into nothingness down the hall, and he was left completely alone with Leia's father, the two of them quiet in the heavy atmosphere - until Bail stood, and put his hand on Han's shoulder lightly, nudging him towards the bench.

"Sit down," he coaxed, careful but concerned.

He let his hand slide off Han the moment he sat, not wanting to crowd him or over stimulate him. Han wasn't a particularly touchy-feely person, and Bail respected that. He folded his hands in his lap, his head tilted to watch Han, and then looked over his shoulder at the door, taking a deep breath.

"Leia's asleep?" he asked, seizing on to Han's brief, earlier comment.

Han nodded, staring at his palms.

"She's - yeah, asleep," he agreed. He took a few deep breaths. "Right," he muttered, "figure you want some - want to know," he went on, half to himself. He lifted his head, and caught Bail's eye tiredly. "They gave her a sedative," he offered. "She was...she had a real high fever, and she was in a lot of pain," he trailed off again. "Medic...thought she was septic," he said hoarsely, "but it wasn't that," rapidly, he went on: "they said it was like she had some...allergic reaction to the shock," he shook his head, falling just short of understanding it - "she had trouble breathin', Bail," he said hoarsely, "her heart, her heart," he stopped again, sighed heavily - "her heart wasn't beatin' right, for a second."

Han shifted, and then rubbed his hands harshly over his face, making a frustrated noise, a groan of exasperation - at himself, at the galaxy - and a hoarse sigh of disbelief.

"It was bad," he snapped, his head jerking up. "You know how _bad_ it - had to be," he flung his hand out, "if Luke shows up at my door, if _Luke's_ feelin' it so bad he can't think straight," Han spread his palm out, and stared down at it, stared down at the lines on his skin, at the flat surface. "I kept tryin' to hold her hand, and she wouldn't let me, 'cause she said she was trying' to hold on," Han broke off - _hold on to the baby, to it's life?_ That's the terrible thought he kept having, and he couldn't begin to comprehend the incredible pain Leia was feeling.

He grit his teeth, and shook his head, clenching his fist.

"What the fuck," he swore softly. " _How_ the fuck does this happen?" he demanded - a demand Bail himself had often leveled at Alderaan's best specialists - _How is this possible? How can you tell me you don't know what's causing it - help her! Fix this, god dammit!_ It was the cruelest thing, that medicine could advance so spectacularly, and yet the same things that had plagued humanity since the beginning of time were still undefeated - that women were still punished arbitrarily by chance, and by fate.

Bail was silent through Han's controlled outburst, feeling it was better to let him talk, let him vent.

"She was sick all afternoon," Han grunted. "I should have - I should have made her come in - "

Bail did interject there; blame was a useless game to play, in terms of health.

"Han, you couldn't have made her," he said. "In my...experience, there's rarely...once it starts, it just takes its course. It's one of nature's cruelties."

Han swore under his breath, his teeth scraping together uncomfortably.

"She was so afraid of somethin' like this," he growled hoarsely. He sat back abruptly. "I thought I was gonna lose 'er, for a minute." He snapped his fingers harshly. "Like that. Just _lose_ her and that's - this is s'pose to be - routine, for women," his words faded into a mutter, and he swallowed hard - he had never felt so isolated, and it was as if all of the carefully monitored fear he'd felt while the medics were stabilizing her burst to the surface - _Leia, they said your heart wasn't workin' right - and if somethin's wrong with your heart, mine's done, mine's dead -_

As much as it frightened Bail to hear Han relate Leia's health scare - he stayed calm, and he endeavored to offer comfort.

"Luke thinks her sensitivity was compounding the emotional distress," he said slowly.

"I know," Han mumbled. "It's suppose to protect her. It is, isn't it? She was so out of it," he compressed his lips, shaking his head angrily.

"You said she was stable now?" Bail asked.

Han took a moment to remember that, finally nodding.

"Yeah, she's stable," he said. "She's gonna be _okay,_ " he said, clearly reminding himself. "S'just," he said, and stopped without going any further - it was just that, the war was over, had been over for a long time, and his life was set, it was damn near perfect, with Leia, and it was unthinkable that something might happen now, _now_ ; he thought he was past lurking fears that Leia would be taken from him.

Han hunched forward, cradling his face in his palms, his elbows jammed into his knees.

"Han," Bail said quietly. "You know if anything," he paused, "if anything ever happened to Leia, you would still be a part of our family."

It was macabre, but he thought it was so vitally important to say; he didn't want to exacerbate fears Han was struggling with at the moment, but knowing one had unconditional support, a system to rely on, was a significant part of being able to stay strong in the face of uncertainty and grief. Han, his head still in his hands, tightened his fingers in his hair for a moment, his knuckles whitening. He lifted his head, his expression blank, and clenched his jaw. He raised one hand, holding it up towards Bail like a shield.

"I can't talk about that," he said curtly.

Bail nodded. He was still for a moment, and then lifted his arm, and put it around Han's shoulders firmly. Han didn't respond particularly effusively, but he didn't shake him off, either. His muscles were drawn and tight, rigid with stress, and they relaxed a little, when Bail pressed his palm against Han's shoulder to steady him a little more. Han made a stricken, desperate noise in the back of his throat.

"S'just gonna break her heart, s'not fair," he said hoarsely. "I don't want her to go through this."

"You're going through it, too," Bail offered kindly.

"Not the same. Not the same," Han muttered - he couldn't seem to get a hold on his feelings; what was so concrete of a physical experience for her was abstract to him, theoretical - they _were_ going to have a baby, now they _weren't_ going to have a baby, but in tangible terms, for Han, there hadn't been a baby in any way other than an exhilarated anticipation of what was to come, but Leia - he remembered her pressing his palm to her abdomen; _can you feel it? I can._

"No," Bail agreed knowingly. He squeezed Han's shoulder, clearing his throat. "Get up and pace around," he advised. "Take a few deep breaths."

Han wanted to snap at him; he was struck with the sudden urge to shove his arm away - but that flare of misplaced anger was quelled easily. He sat back, then nodded roughly and got up, taking Bail's advice - he knew instinctively that his decision to make sure Bail was there for Leia wasn't entirely selfless; that wasn't all there was to it - he himself recognized that he needed his father-in-law's guidance.

 _Help,_ he thought, _I need help - it's going to be so hard for her, and I need to be able to be there for her the right way._

Bail knew what this was like, he knew. He had insight.

Han scuffed his foot on the floor, and turned slowly, pacing back to reclaim his seat on the bench. Again, he leaned forward, sliding his hands into his hair and twisting them. He pressed his face into his forearms for a moment and took a deep breath.

"What do I do?" he muttered.

 _How can I help her, how can I be there - tell me what I'm supposed to say to make it better._

Next to him, Bail sighed, thoughtful. He reached up to rub his jaw, reflecting carefully - disheartening as this whole situation was, he was relieved Han saw the merit in asking for advice - Force, Bail wished he'd had someone to lean on when Breha kept having disappointments, because he'd only had alcohol and uncertainty, and he'd said so many well-intended, but hurtful things, and he'd had to figure it out on his own. He felt, so strongly, that the best way he could comfort his daughter was to make sure _Han_ was well-equipped to comfort her.

"You have to use the word 'we' a lot," he said finally, beginning slowly. "She won't feel as alone."

He hoped Han understood what he meant. It was such a lonely, isolating experience, and Han was at least right in recognizing how different it was for Leia; Bail had so often exacerbated that with his words, stumbling through emotional support with platitudes that made it hurt all the more for Breha. And all the times he had tried to placate her with promises of next time -

"Don't tell her you can just try again," he offered. "It seems like a hopeful statement but it just...feels like it's writing it off, feels like, umm," he waved his hand a little, "erasing it."

Han snorted a little.

"Yeah, when I was...when I kept askin' if she was gonna be okay, the medic told me to calm down, said it's only a miscarriage," he said. " _Only_."

Bail nodded sympathetically.

"Unfortunately, medics see injury often enough that they forget their tact," he said slowly - he didn't want to be too critical of the medic; he was sure Han had been aggressive with them in the treatment room, and when tensions were running high - people made mistakes. He knew how high-strung medics could be when they were tasked with the well-being of elite public figures - no doubt, the medical staff had Leia's health on their minds, and were harboring a fear of what might be done to them if they didn't care for her well.

"There's no way to...make her," Han kind of fluttered his hands roughly at his chest, trying to find words, "not hurt," he finished haggardly - and it wasn't really a question; he knew there was no way to numb the pain.

"No," Bail said softly, answering anyway. "I'm afraid not."

Han's hands hung over his knees dejectedly. His brow furrowed.

"She kept...apologizing to me," he said hoarsely.

"Breha used to do that," Bail said tiredly. "Like she owed me something. Like she thought I was mad at her."

He shook his head - he didn't know where that instinct came from, but it had always bothered him deeply; he felt no resentment towards Breha for anything that had happened when they tried to have children. He supposed there were still some cultures, on some backwards planets, that did hold the female responsible for anything gone wrong - but there was just no rhyme or reason to this, at least not the way he saw it; he and Breha had done everything conventionally 'right' - so had Han and Leia - and yet.

"I know you don't want her to hurt, Han," Bail said. "I don't either. But you have to just...let her feel."

"Yeah," Han said, "but you know how Leia is - " he broke off, his voice strained; maybe Bail didn't know as well as Han did, because for all his efforts, Bail just wasn't as well-versed in antebellum Leia, but Han was numbed with fear that she'd retreat into herself, pull away from him - if this was anything like how reticent she'd gotten, and how strained their relationship had been over the mere _discussion_ of having a baby -

He sat back, crossing his arms tightly.

"Doc wants her to wake up from the sedative on her own," he said tiredly. "He wants to talk to her once she's had some time to process. There's some...thing, they might have to do? Some procedure."

"Ah," Bail muttered. "It's to ensure she doesn't _become_ septic," he noted.

Han didn't say anything.

"Her physician isn't here," he spoke up finally. "I don't like the duty medic," he said under his breath - the man wouldn't stop calling Leia by her title, even though Han asked him not to; he was efficient, and businesslike, but Han didn't know him, and when their private lives sold like wildfire to the press, he was paranoid of anyone not vetted attending to Leia - he only trusted privacy laws so far, and he didn't like the callousness with which the medic had dismissed Han's concern - he hadn't been through this before, he didn't _know._

Bail tilted his head thoughtfully.

"You know what you ought to do?" he asked softly. "You ought to take her away. Take her somewhere secluded where she's away from prying eyes and she doesn't have to work, or police her emotions. And do that," he suggested, " _right_ away, before she can start repressing it, or try to move on too fast - and before the two of you get bogged down in having tests done, and losing your minds wanting answers," he shook his head. "Just go away with her and let her not be okay for a little while."

Han compressed his lips, his jaw tightening, and gave a short little nod, thinking about that. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bail tilt his head, studying his profile closely.

"What about _you_ , Han?" Bail ventured. "Are you alright?"

"'M fine, 'm fine," Han muttered shortly, speaking as if he'd been startled, or caught doing something he shouldn't. He shivered a little, and shook his head, grimacing, and softening his tone. "I, uh...don't think I feel anything," he said numbly. "I don't feel right," he said, saying more than he meant to. "'M not...upset enough about it, 'm just thinkin' about Leia," he swallowed hard, trailing off.

Bail nodded in understanding - he didn't think it was out of the ordinary, and he didn't think it was wrong. His own experience with Breha's first miscarriage had been a bewildering, a confusing mix of deep sadness, to see his wife so hurt, and the strange feeling that this just meant a change in schedule - his relationship with the lost baby hadn't been bonded yet, and he suspected Han was feeling the same way - wrenched by Leia's obvious pain, confused at his lack of similar devastation.

"The way I...began to see it," Bail said slowly, "is that there's a disconnect between us - men - and what _she's_ going through," he explained quietly, "because, for most of us I think, we don't really feel like a father until," he lifted his arms, sort of vaguely miming holding an infant. His hands fell back to his lap. "But if we're hurting because she's hurting, and we're...striving to understand that, and be supportive," he reached up to pat Han's back, "then we're doing alright, son."

Han was quiet, processing Bail's words - it dampened some of the frantic shame he kept feeling, thinking his priorities weren't straight enough - something he'd first felt when they asked him about a sono for the heartbeat, and his first fleeting, harsh thought had been - _fuck the damn sonogram, is my wife going to be okay?_ \- but Leia was the tangible thing for him - _Sith_ , there were so many knotted layers to the anguish he felt right now.

"It's not wrong to feel that way, Han," Bail said flatly. "As long as you _never_ let it make _her_ feel like she's not getting over it fast enough."

Han nodded, his jaw set - he'd never dream of that; he'd never expect Leia to just get over something. In terms of coping processes, he was probably more patient than most, given that Leia had been managing deep, traumatic psychological scars for as long as he had known her.

"But," he said gruffly, his voice unsteady. "I wanted it," he asserted earnestly. "Yeah, we can try again, but she might not want to - and it doesn't matter. I wanted this one," he insisted - all kinds of things were twisting in his head, making him nauseous - he felt guilty, like he'd some how forced Leia into this, and he felt callous, because he worried this could scar her so badly she'd never want to have a baby, and it had been so hard to get here, and even though he didn't feel as connected, he still felt - deprived, he was still -

He took a deep breath and tilted his head, far back, pressing it back against the wall almost painfully. His arms, crossed tightly, dug into his ribs, and he blinked rapidly, swallowing hard. Bail, tacitly noticing Han's bloodshot eyes and the subtle twitch of a muscle in his jaw, stood, and cleared his throat.

"Would you like to be alone for a minute?" he asked intuitively.

Han nodded curtly, and Bail stood, turning away as he stepped away from the bench. He was careful in avoiding looking at Han, not for lack of care, but because of a deep understanding of masculine socialization; Han's emotions were raw, and he needed to be besieged by them, entirely overwhelmed by them - and that was unlikely to happen with an audience. Tactfully, Bail excused himself with the generic intent of going to get kaffe for them both - he thought he might reach out to Luke, touch base with Winter - Winter was the best choice to tell Rouge, those two had a close understanding of one another, despite their superficial bickering - he gave Han his privacy.

When the Viceroy's footsteps had faded, Han slackened his jaw a little, his muscles aching with the effort it had taken to remain stoic throughout their conversation - he appreciated Bail's immediate perception that Han needed to be alone as much as he appreciated that he'd been able to give some insight, that he'd so readily been here at all. Han bent forward, swallowing down the lump in his throat, rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes as he started to think, to compose himself, preparing to face the next hurdle - he wanted to compartmentalize his feelings until they got out of this suffocating Med Center, and he could do that, he was confident in it - and he didn't want Leia to have to take the lead on anything, when the doctor came in to speak with them later.

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes again, until his vision swam, and then cleared his throat harshly, sitting up, a little. He leaned down on one knee, grinding his teeth - and when Bail had returned with two cups of black kaffee, he said nothing about Han's still bloodshot, blurry eyes; and when Han went back into Leia's room to sit with her until she woke up, there was no trace of red in his eyes at all, and he was fortified.

* * *

Leia rested, undisturbed, under the influence of her sedative for a decent amount of time, and seated next to her in an uncomfortable chair, Han drifted in and out of fitful naps. The kaffe he'd had did nothing to stave off his exhaustion, but he was unable to really sleep when he wanted to be keeping vigil over her. Out of respect for Leia, he had asked Bail - and Luke, when he returned with a concerned Chewbacca in tow - to wait outside until Leia was able to tell him if she wanted to see them or not. Both had agreed - and Han stayed with her alone, collapsing the rail on one side of her bed so it was easier for him to lean forward on it. He'd kept a sharp watch on the monitors, when his body wasn't forcefully closing his eyes for him, and kept a hand close to hers so she'd easily be able to hold it when she woke up.

When she did, it was very quiet, and calm; he was in the middle of rubbing his face to try and force some colour and alertness back into it when she brushed her knuckles against his and interlaced their fingers, taking a deep breath. She felt groggy and listless, heavy and hollow at the same time, and the only thing that made her feel better was Han lowering his hand from his eyes and looking at her.

He smiled a little tensely, and rested the back of his hand against her forehead.

"Hi, Sweetheart," he said, squeezing her hand.

She clutched it in return, saying nothing. Han cleared his throat and sat back a little, rolling his neck, stretching his shoulders - and reached over to press a button on one of the monitors, letting the systems know she was awake so a doctor could be paged. He smoothed his hand over her forehead and her hair, still trying to offer a small, supportive smile. He hesitated to ask her if she felt okay; he knew she probably didn't - he just wondered if she was still in any _physical_ pain - while he equivocated over what else to say, she swallowed hard, shifting her head.

"What's going on?" she asked.

Han hesitated again, his chest tightening apprehensively.

"You remember anything?" he asked quietly.

Leia nodded slowly, biting her lower lip.

"I remember," she answered. "I know what happened, Han." Her brow furrowed. "I mean, I mean," she said unsteadily, trying to shake off the rest of the sedative. "What's next, do I need," she trailed off, her brow furrowing, and Han ran a thumb over her temple, listening patiently. "I'm still," she somewhat vaguely gestured at her abdomen, "hurting."

"How bad?" Han asked. "Severe? Like earlier?"

Leia shook her head, her lips moving soundlessly. She closed her eyes, her shoulders falling.

"It feels like...contractions, I think."

Han nodded slowly.

"I know," she amended softly, her lips turning down, recoiling at the thought. "It's just dull aching."

It felt like a more extreme version of cramps, but the pain was not as acute as it was earlier - Leia sensed the lack of urgency in it; her body just struggling to clean up a mess, a mess -

"The medic's gonna come in here and talk to us," Han told her. "He, ah...he told me you're gonna be okay. There's just some more things they need to do."

Leia didn't say anything for a moment.

"Is Dr. Mellis here?" she murmured.

Han shook his head, giving her hand a squeeze.

"I notified her," he said. "She's - tryin' to get back."

She went quiet again, and Han swallowed hard, looking her over and being careful not to show too much alarm. She seemed okay, she seemed properly oriented to her surroundings, slowly coming to. She looked over his shoulder, then up and around at the private room, loosening her grip on his hand a little - loosening, but not letting go. She shifted to sit up, and Han straightened, his expression wary.

"Don't do that," he started. "Lay - "

She shook her head tensely, and drew her knees up a little, wrapping her arms around her legs at the thigh. She bowed her head a little, and sighed, her lips pursing with discomfort. She pressed her knees together, focusing on her abdomen - she felt less tension sitting like this, but she felt a peripheral anxiety, too; she felt poisoned, by the lifelessness left inside her, and took a few more deep breaths, trying not to think to hard about it - _I couldn't do anything_ -

"Is Luke here?" she asked, trying to distract herself.

"Mmhm," Han muttered. "Your father's out there," he said, gently tilting his head. "You mind if he comes in? He wants to see you."

Leia hesitated for a long time, and then shook her head.

"No," she mumbled, tripping over her refusal: "I don't want him...he's had enough of this," she said faintly. "I don't want him seeing me, and reliving," she broke off, shaking her head - _my mother,_ she mouthed, wanting Breha so desperately it hurt - _Mama, how did you survive this? How, how, how -_ Han said nothing, didn't fight her or try to convince her otherwise; he just cleared his throat quietly.

"I, uh...I told...I made sure Tavska knows," he said haltingly, bracing himself with a wince - he anticipated her being angry with him, having an outburst of anguish over the idea of having to tell people - but she was subdued, her lashes fluttering with despair, and then her eyes lifting to meet his, sincere, and full of tired sorrow.

"Thank you," was all she said, and Han clenched his teeth, his heart skipping a few beats - he'd done right so far, then; and that made him feel better than anything had yet, better than anything Bail had said - and his spirits were lifted a little by Leia's calm. He wasn't fool enough to think she was unaffected, but he was glad she'd regained her bearings.

"Leia," he said softly. "You don't have to see him, but think about it," he requested. "He's real worried. He...y'know, he gets it."

She shook her head a little, and one of her hands drifted from her thigh to her ribs, pressing into the indents there. She cleared her throat thickly, another grimace furrowing her brow.

"I don't really want him seeing me right now," she murmured tensely, a grimace striking her face again. She tucked her hand between her legs and winced, compressing her lips. "When is this...going - to be over," she gasped quietly, her shoulders drawing inwards. "I want it - out of me, Han."

He set his jaw, nodding, and reached out to run his hand up and down her spine, starting to get up. He stood closer, torn between leaving her to physically hunt down a medic - he wasn't entirely sure what she needed, and as much as he didn't want to admit it, thinking about it too hard disturbed him. Leia leaned back against his hand a little and moaned softly, and he bent down to kiss her forehead and turn on his heel to get a medic himself - preempted, though, by the timely arrival of the duty physician who had treated her earlier, an obstetrics two-onebee, and a nurse - Han was relieved to see the Corellian one - on his heels.

The nurse stepped up to Leia's other side to check her vitals, smiling kindly. She bent closer to ask Leia a question, as the medic pulled the Holo-chart from the front of Leia's bed, and Han tried to pay attention to everything going on - Leia's inaudible, murmuring answer to the nurse, and the medic clearing his throat softly, and giving Leia a searching, sympathetic look before quietly speaking.

"Your Highness, this is difficult," he said honestly. "I won't pretend to understand how you're feeling, but I hope you will trust me to help treat you so we can start you safely healing at home. Which is I'm sure," he glanced at the nurse for a moment, "is where you would prefer to be."

Leia nodded a little, mustering some formal comportment from deep down inside her - _Your Highness;_ why did he have to call her that when she was barely dressed, pale and feverish; when he'd had his hands on her stomach, and knew she was bleeding so - in such an intimate way? - it wasn't respectful, when she was getting medical care, it was voyeuristic in her eyes, lurid, and she felt mildly violated. She turned her head to avoid looking at him, and the nurse touched her face gently, studying her eyes.

"Do you feel dizzy?" she asked.

Leia shook her head, and her tight silence worried Han. He folded his arms tensely, watching the nurse, and turned to the medic gruffly, one of his hands bunching into his shirt, wrinkling it with a firm, stressed grip. Leia's cheeks were losing colour again, and she looked paler - distracted, Han moved closer to her, then speaking to the doctor without looking at him.

"What does she need?" he asked. He grit his teeth at himself, following his question up smoothly - "What do we need?" he asked effortlessly - _don't let her feel like she's alone._

"It's fairly simple," he answered calmly. "She's far enough along that I worry about a possibility of infection."

"Leia," the nurse said quietly. "Will you lie back, please?"

"It's uncomfortable," Leia murmured. "It's worse on my back."

The nurse nodded.

"Let me get you a heating pillow," she soothed, without missing a beat. "I need you to lie back. I need your feet in the stirrups."

Han was distracted, again, from the doctor's words, by the side conversation the nurse had with Leia - he watched Leia's profile intently, trying to gauge her reaction, his brow knitting tightly - as far as he knew, Leia had never had issues with her appointments that were - female specific, and the two times he'd gone with her she hadn't been alarmed at all - but this doctor was male, and Leia didn't know him -

Han looked back at the medic with a grunt.

"You have to - what?" he asked, flushing at his lack of attention - _get it together, Solo, she needs you to take care of this, fuck_ \- "You need to do what?"

The medic neutrally explained again - using words that sounded cold and clinical - _products of conception_ and _\- dilation - curettage_ \- that sounded downright violent, and Han's temple throbbed as he focused, staring at the man with tunnel vision. He felt weary, out of his element, and isolated - did Leia know what any of this meant? He thought he understood, but it seemed so - maudlin - and did she want to be hearing it? - Han raised his hand a little, stepping aside so the doctor stepped with him.

"Look, uh," Han started, wanting to offer some insight without sharing information that wasn't his to share - he knew Leia had been clear with Dr. Mellis about the sexual trauma in her past, and he didn't think it was wise to withhold information from medical professionals - but it was still her history, not his. "She doesn't...she doesn't even do well with shots," he said vaguely.

"I understand," the medic said. "There's no need for more IVs or even an epidural anesthetic; I can localize the anesthesia, and most of this will be no different than a routine gynecological exam."

Han looked at him skeptically, his mouth dry.

"Seems a little more involved," he snapped tensely.

"The difference being that she isn't numbed during a routine exam," the medic pointed out carefully, "she will be during this. You are free to stay right by her side."

"Yeah, but how are you going to numb her?" Han persisted.

"Using a needle speculum."

Han grimaced. He stared at the doctor for a long time, and then turned and strode back to Leia. Instead of sitting down again, he stood at her side, watching as the nurse, hovering between Leia's legs handed a cloth to the obstetrics droid - _blood is still bright red,_ he heard her murmur, _it isn't septic._ Han blinked harshly, and leaned down.

"Are you okay with a speculum?" he asked quietly.

Leia's response was dry, resigned - "I'm a pro with speculums."

"Okay," he muttered, brushing her hair back. "So, he's - they want to make sure it's all - clean," he said slowly, "so you don't get sick."

She nodded.

"I can hear him, Han," she confessed softly. She closed her eyes, and sighed hoarsely. "I know - I know what he's talking about." She swallowed hard. "I had one on Yavin. A D&C."

Han pursed his lips, uncomprehending - but this was, this was something they wanted to do to treat a miscarriage, and she hadn't had anything like that on Yavin; he knew she'd never been pregnant before - she reached up and touched his jaw lightly, shaking her head.

"It was to test for cell damage," she reassured him, wincing. "It's - ahm, it's okay, Han," she agreed, nodding tiredly. "I just - get it over with." Her eyes softened, pleading with him, and he nodded, turning and giving the medic a curt nod.

"Your Highness," the medic said, drawing up a chair and moving to stand at her ankles. "We'll administer antiseptic and local anesthesia, and the whole process will only take about fifteen minutes, at the longest..." he kept talking, but Han could tell Leia wasn't listening; she wasn't even looking at the small congregation of people below her waist.

Han gave them one last glance, noticed Leia's toes were white, shoved tightly against the stirrups, and focused on her with wary apprehension.

"Leia," he started.

She swallowed hard.

"I really," she started tensely. "I really want it to be over," she whispered.

"I know," he muttered. He took her hand, and leaned forward, resting his elbow near her shoulder, resolved to distract her. "It'll stop hurting," he said slowly. "Look at me," he suggested.

She did, her lashes twitching, expression still resigned - Han looked more anxious by the second, as Leia found some of the steel embedded deep in her skin and pulled it to the surface, exercising her will to power through this part, so she could go home, so Han could take her home, and she could curl up in bed and sleep, and cry, and try to make sense of all this - of why this had to happen, _why -_

"You'll feel something cold," the obstetrics droid announced blithely.

Leia's head snapped to the side. Han saw her eyes flicker with alarm. Her face flushed, then drained of colour, and He sat up, taken aback.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She didn't really respond, but he saw her looking at the droid, her expression fixed, stricken - somehow, he realized that she hadn't understood that the droid would be performing most of the procedure, and what she was looking at was - a droid, hovering close to her; a male doctor, a needle - Han reached for her hand.

"Leia, look at me," he said again. "It's alright." She did look at him. "It's not Yavin," he soothed. "You're safe," he brushed his hand over her hair, but she swallowed hard, tensing up violently - _Your Highness, I know it's uncomfortable - try to relax_ \- the Medic's request was crisp, and Leia, for a brief, black moment, though only of the probe droid, with its egregious pain serum - _Your Highness_ \- of violation, and things she didn't want - _I didn't want him to touch me,_ she thought, and then just as quickly - _I don't want to be here, I want the baby, I don't want to lose it -_ it was too late, but her mind held her hostage, and she turned her head, grabbing Han's wrist, her nails piercing his skin.

"Stop," she said. "Han, make him stop. _Stop_."

Han flipped his hand up so she could hold onto it better and wrenched back, looking directly at the nurse -

"Stop," he ordered harshly. "Stop it, right now."

The Medic looked insistent, but the nurse nodded, touching his shoulder and then reaching forward, swift and determined, to deprogram the droid. It hovered away from Leia, and Han noticed her knees visibly relax - she drew one of her feet back, dropping it from the stirrup, her breathing elevated into sharp bursts - the Medic stood to look, and the nurse waved her hand at him, moving to Leia's side.

"Not anaphylaxis," she told the doctor. "Panic."

Han turned back to her, and Leia was struggling to sit up, her face white as a sheet - she held onto his arm, taking her other foot out of the stirrup, and holding her knees together. Han looked around grimly.

"Water?" he asked.

The nurse went to fetch some, and Han spent a moment absorbed in calming Leia down, until the water returned, and she occupied herself drinking it, and breathing - in-out, in-out, in-out - until her head was clearer, and she felt less threatened - she leaned back, and when Han was sure she was relatively okay again, he kissed her temple, and warily extricated himself, stepping far off to the side with the medic when he beckoned.

"You can't do that," Han decided flatly. "She doesn't want it. There's a pill or somethin', right?" he asked callously. "I know there's a pill." He knew - he 'd known women who had taken it.

"There is, but this is more effective, as well as quicker," he explained. "General - she's had a rough experience. Considering her earlier reaction, I do not want to leave the completion of the miscarriage to chance and risk infection - "

"She's not septic. You said she's not," Han said, gesturing at the nurse. "If she's still bleeding, it's runnin' its course, right? If she's hurting? It's - "

"I would prefer not to put her through waiting it out," the medic said. "I'm sure you understand."

"There's a lot I don't want to put her through!" Han shouted.

He folded his arms, clapping a hand over his mouth roughly, and closing his eyes to calm down. Both he, and the medic, took a few deep breaths, and finally the medic spoke up again.

"I don't generally like to put my patients under general anesthetic for this procedure," he started, lowering his voice carefully. He said something very quietly, and Han lowered his head to hear what he was saying, cutting a sharp glance at the droid to make sure it wasn't advancing back towards Leia against his wishes. "As long as she is still stable, there isn't a rush. I can provide another sedative, anesthetize, and perform the procedure when she's out - "

"No," Han barked, immediately shocked, an incredulous look spreading over his face. He almost reeled backwards - "What?" he demanded. "No."

"General Solo - "

"No," Han interrupted more emphatically, raising his voice - and he didn't give a damn if Leia overheard, because she had every right to know what the bastard wanted to do. He shook his head angrily - "You want to put her on drugs, and then do somethin' to her she just said was botherin' her? That she just asked me to make you _stop_ doing?" His hands ached and itched, wanting to throttle the man. "You're out of your fucking mind."

"I am trying to take the best course of - action - I know how to treat a patient, Sir," the physician said in a clipped tone, squaring up - he gave Han a narrow, pinched look, and that look triggered memories of every time he'd gotten that same, demeaning look when he was a kid, a look that disdained him and implied he wasn't worth a damn, and didn't belong - and he may not have been in his element, trying to handle the situation here, but he knew Leia damn well.

"I don't think you do," he said flatly, refusing to back down - He crossed his arms and looked back at Leia; she tilted her head back, her shoulders falling heavily against the pillows, and closed her eyes miserably, obviously tired, fragile, emotionally shattered - and it was rare that Leia didn't have the energy to fight for herself.

He tore his eyes away from her, giving the medic a nasty look.

"I want a female doctor," he said coolly.

"Excuse me?" the man hissed.

Han folded his arms aggressively.

"You heard me," he snapped - he knew, knew this would not have happened with Dr. Mellis - and, probably, with any woman, who would have probably talked to Leia, wanted to know specifics about her - at least understood, even if she hadn't been through it, how delicate a situation this was, and how sensitive she should be.

"I am the on-duty Medic, and I - "

"You can't tell me there's not a single goddamn female physician in this hospital," Han interrupted. "I don't care if she's general internal med, get her," he pointed at Leia, "a female, while _I_ get her personal physician here."

The medic just stared at him, and since Han figured he needed a little nudge, he grabbed him buy the elbow and pointed towards the door.

"Viceroy Bail Organa is sitting right outside that door; you want to go tell him how you're treating his daughter?"

The man looked pale, ruffled, startled - and he shook Han off, stepping aside, trying to compose himself - he cleared his throat, hastily tucking his coat back on his shoulder - -and then shoved Leia's Holo-chart into his pocket, nodding - nodding hastily. Han followed on his heels, menacing him, and when they opened the door, he crooked his finger at Bail sharply.

"Call Dr. Mellis' office and see if they can get her apprentice," he ordered roughly, hardly even thinking twice about ordering the Viceroy around. "Chewie," he snapped, pointing at the medic. "Personally escort this bastard to get Leia a female medic."

Chewbacca gave a menacing growl, and Bail, though he looked bewildered, and worried - also looked strangely impressed, and immediately stood to do so - Han barely gave any of them a second glance, shutting the door and retreating back into the room quickly, footsteps pounding as he went back to see if Leia was okay - she was murmuring an answer to the nurse, who had dutifully, and quietly, kept the hovering droid back away from her.

"Sorry," Han spat carelessly at the nurse, reaching out to press his hand to Leia's forehead.

"No need, Han," the nurse said simply, handing him a cool cloth to rest on against Leia's temple - she said nothing for a moment, and then cleared her throat. "He's a sexist," she said curtly, and then elaborated, "that Medic."

She said nothing else, merely adjusted one of Leia's monitors, and retreated to usher the droid away, with the quiet word that she'd return shortly, and Han leaned down closer to Leia who, despite having been rather calm, and stoic, throughout this part, was looking dehydrated, thin, and tired. He ran his thumb gingerly along her chapped lower lip, and reached around to cup her head in his palm. Leia winched, tilted her head back into his touch like she needed it for strength.

"I want to go home," she confided huskily. "I don't want to be here."

"I know," Han answered quietly. "I know, Sweetheart."

"This is a mess," she mumbled, closing her eyes. She licked her lips. "You're so," she started. Her voice trembled. "I love you."

Han stroked her hair, just behind her ear - thin strands, wet with sweat. He shook his head and leaned in to kiss her temple, sighing quietly. She opened her eyes and looked at him apprehensively, and he stroked her hair again.

"You're alright, Leia."

She nodded, confident that she probably was, with him there baring his teeth and standing her ground for her.

"Don't leave me alone," she demanded.

He shook his head.

"I won't," he swore - not on his life.

She lapsed into silence, awake, but keeping her eyes closed, and he stayed close, watching protectively, his heart beating a painful rhythm - he felt her earlier request deep in his bones - _let's just get this over with; let me take her home - let us just - go home -_

* * *

It had all happened – so fast, and yet his recall of everything was slow motion, from the moment he woke up to find blood on their sheets, to when it was – arbitrarily – declared – _over_ ; when Leia was barely feeling any residual pain, and dawn was breaking, and he was alone with her in the stiflingly sanitary recovery room, sitting in silence.

She was awake – but she hadn't said a word for a little while now – half an hour; since her father had left. She had finally agreed to see him just after Dr. Mellis's midwife had departed – she saw him briefly, accepted a hug and a kiss on the forehead, and then even Bail was gone.

Han figured he was still outside in the hall, patiently keeping watch, but he didn't pay him much mind right now – he didn't know if Leia's silence was a good indicator, or a bad one; he just sat with her, still reeling, still feeling like he hadn't quite caught his breath – he felt in control of the situation, he felt like he'd handled it as best as he could, but he was just – winded.

It had been such chaos for an hour or two – then chaos again while he made damn sure the next medic who walked into the room was a woman, a woman who would listen – Dr. Mellis was still traveling, but her midwife apprentice had made it, and given Han a better overview of options – yes; there was a pill, but there was some risk of it not completely taking care of things, and Leia was certainly within her rights to simply wait, and let it take its course, but the apprentice emphasized Leia's health, kindly and gently explaining everything.

Leia agreed to it again – and Han, more reluctantly so, only after Leia told him quietly that the problem wasn't the procedure, it was the unfamiliar man and the droid; the midwife apprentice promised to do it herself, and Leia – giving herself an easier out – asked for an epidural anesthetic.

He'd held his place by her side again – You don't have to do this, Sweetheart, he told her earnestly – _I'll sit with you if you just want to let it take it's course, I don't care, it won't bother me_ – she didn't want that, though; he saw the pain on her face at the idea of it, the pale, withdrawn sadness in her eyes – she couldn't bear it, she couldn't bear the idea of laying around, counting hours, bleeding – _I want it to be over._

It was over; it had been over – the apprentice confided in him gently – soothing him when she overheard him say something about bringing her in sooner – that this process had started several days ago, and there was little to be done – it wasn't his fault; it wasn't Leia's fault –

 _I didn't – know, Han, I couldn't tell_ – she spoke up, and his heart ached every time she said something like that – not for a second did he think she was somehow responsible, not for a second.

He wondered what was on her mind now, as she sat propped up on pillows, an IV still in her arm – her eyes were closed, but her breathing uneven and alert, and once in a while she would open them and stare at him, or stare down at her hands. He'd had his head down on the bed next to her hip, watching her chest move from the angle, and now he shifted, sitting up.

Han leaned on his elbows on the edge of the bed, and as he pressed them in heavily, the thick, textured fabric made little pit marks on his skin. He supported his chin with his knuckles, and brushed his neck lightly with his palm, before lowering his hand and resting it on Leia's thigh.

He ran it back and forth for a moment, looking at her intently. Her eyes were open again, but weren't quite looking at him - she was quiet, she tired, she ultimately seemed to focus on a point just at his shoulder.

Her hair fell entirely over one shoulder, and he noticed it had gotten longer lately; she hadn't had a trim. It looked somewhat dull, in the fluorescent light – one of the nurses had given her a brush when they gave her some soft, clean pajamas to wear, and Leia had thought it a sweet gesture – kind, and somehow understanding.

Han had combed it for her, leaving the brush at the edge of the bed near her feet. He studied her profile carefully, swallowing hard – the silence seemed so suffocating, and the idea of – of facing others so, so daunting – he thought she might be thinking the same, and he wanted to pre-empt that he wanted – Bail was right. Bail was right, he ought to take her away –

"Leia," he mumbled. He moved his hand to hers and cupped his palm around it. He cleared his throat softly. "You want to go to Corellia for a while? The cabin?" he suggested.

She blinked. She looked at him with an unreadable expression, and Han held his breath, unsure how she would react – he thought it was the most useful advice Bail had given him: _don't let her start to repress it_ – Han just wanted to give her a hiding place, an outlet.

He started lining up arguments - he'd tell her he wanted to go, that he needed it, and she'd do it for him - or he'd get Luke to talk some mystic insight into her –

He prepared to persuade her, and she caught him off guard.

She simply nodded slowly.

"Yes," she said, very quietly quietly.

Han's brows went up with mild surprise. He pushed his thumb over her knuckles gently. She turned her hand over in his palm and clutched his fingers. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her wrist.

Leia shifted until she was laying on her side, and curled up, turning closer to Han and tucking her hand and his close to her cheek. She stared at him listlessly for a moment. She seemed a little startled at herself, for answering so swiftly, for being so amenable, but it felt right – she thought of the chalet, and she thought of how peaceful it was, and how…beautiful, and secluded.

She took a deep breath.

"I'll have to – figure out a statement for my office, for a sudden absence -" she trailed off at the look on Han's face.

She nodded, as if she understood his tacit command - her father could handle that.

She closed her eyes and sighed faintly.

Han hunched down and rested his chin on the blanket, watching her face, wondering if she was truly struggling to fight off sleep, or if she was feigning it. He didn't mind either way. They were going to release her in the afternoon, in the lull hours after lunch, she remained stable – in as good of health as she could be, considering.

He glanced up through his lashes when he felt her hand sliding into his hair, combing and stroking gently. Slowly, he lifted his head, and Leia moved her head up, biting her lip. He watched her do it for a moment, until he noticed she was drawing blood, and he reached up with his thumb to stop her.

Leia parted her lips.

"I knew," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I knew it…was going to happen."

She lifted her shoulders helplessly. Gingerly, she sat up a little, propping herself up more and looking over at him, her expression somber. She twisted her fingers together in her lap, swallowing hard.

Han let his hands rest on the bed.

"I know you had a bad feeling, Sweetheart," he started.

"You don't understand," she interrupted hoarsely. Her eyes darted around, as if she was afraid speaking about it was a curse, was somehow – going to hurt her. "I saw this, I saw," she trailed off, lifting her hand, and then flattening it. She pointed at the IV, and then she pointed at him. "I saw it, I just…didn't understand what it was."

"What d'you mean, you saw it?" Han asked patiently.

Her brow furrowed, and her cheeks flushed a little. She hesitated.

"In a vision," she said under her breath. "I was with Luke, at the temple," she breathed in shakily, "before we got married. You remember."

Han blinked a few times – he did; he remembered Luke bringing Leia back from that place, ankle sprained, nose bleeding, shaking like she'd seen demons and ghosts – and the way she'd slept, peacefully, for hours – the day he and Bail Organa came to understand something about each other.

"I remember," Han agreed gruffly.

Leia bit her tongue, afraid of scaring him. She was – scared herself; she suddenly remembered that vision so clearly, so clearly, and it made – perfect sense. She had felt a tiny – growing – amount of dread from the moment she realized she was pregnant, and it was if that vision had lingered in the back of her mind, bursting into the forefront last night.

Even in the worst of throes of it, she had somehow felt a hollow acceptance that seemed to whisper – _this has to happen._

 _But – why –_

It didn't have to; she didn't think it had to, that was the wrong way to think of it – and she hadn't known in any way that made her able to stop it, she was powerless, in the face of some acts of nature, just as powerless as any other mortal woman.

She could conceive of some deeper meaning in this happening, she was too hurt right now; she felt betrayed in her own skin, betrayed by the sensitivity that had, at first, made this all seem so bright and beautiful; it scratched at her mind soul, the way this had happened to her –

"My father," she started. "Did he put his arm around you, in the hallway?"

Han was quiet, his eyes fixed on hers. Considering her intently in the silence, he gave a slow nod, deliberate, and tired. He didn't set much store by it, though; seemed like a thing she could have guessed – but he believed her; he did, and he was angry at the Force, somehow; he felt it had snatched something away from her – it was supposed to make her safer, make her more protected – that was what he desperately wanted out of that power.

"I know it doesn't make any sense," she said.

"Leia, I believe you," Han said honestly. He lifted one shoulder. "Doesn't matter. Doesn't make it your fault," he added softly.

Leia nodded, and shook her head – her head swiveling as she did a mixture of both, looking down at her fingers again. She twisted them together, her shoulders falling – she didn't think it was her fault, not in a specifically blameworthy sense – she was struck numb with horror that she couldn't have saved it – she wasn't going to forget, for the rest of her life, the spiritual sense of being clawed at, of something struggling to hold onto her.

"It was such a new sensation," she whispered. "I could," she lifted her hand towards her heart, "I could faintly…there was this overwhelming warmth, the sense that it was there," her fingers brushed at her ribs, and then she gestured lightly at her ear, "and I could hear the hum of a heartbeat – it wasn't – overpowering, and I'm…not as attuned as Luke," she continued haltingly. "When it started to fade, I don't think I really, understood…until," she stopped talking.

She pressed her lips together – _until I lost it –_ and she cringed at that word, 'lost' so piercing and so accusatory, like something she had done was irresponsible, and wrong – she hadn't lost it, she hadn't done this, it was taken from her, taken away.

Her breath hitched in her throat.

"I felt," she started faintly, looking at him through her lashes. "I felt the baby," she stopped again, and did not resume talking this time - _die_ , she wanted to say; _I felt the moment the light flickered out,_ and when she'd come to, really come to, to be aware of what was happening, Han had been yelling at the nurse not to give her a shot.

Han grasped her hands in his and brought them to his mouth, kissing her knuckles. Leia drew his hand towards her, laying back, sliding down on her pillows, and splaying his hand over her abdomen, breathing out in something like relief – she felt empty, and Han's hand was a comforting, familiar weight there.

She licked her lips and looked over at him, her voice still shaking, but her eyes still dry – steady, and resigned; she hadn't cried since they had sedated her, and Han worried that it was due to a lingering effect of the drug; he worried the full force of grief hadn't made its way through the murky haze of medication yet.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Han's lips turned up ruefully. He started to tell her he was fine, but that wasn't wholly the truth, and he didn't feel good lying to her – and he had taken it to heart, when she told him once that their relationship wasn't fair if she was the only one allowed to be unsteady.

He ran his free hand over his mouth, and simply shook his head a little in answer – he wasn't, but he would be, and he was fine to fly – he could safely pilot them away; he just needed Chewie to ready the ship for them.

She pressed his hand closer to her abdomen, and tilted her head back, her throat moving tensely as she swallowed. Han watched a reflective, almost contrite expression spread over her face, and he reached over to run his fingers lightly along her brow, his own face taut and concerned. He rested his palm against her cheek, and she turned her head a little.

She reached up, took his hand, and twisted her fingers into his, pulling his arm tight to her and curling up on her side. She held both of his hands close, his knuckles against her breasts for comfort.

"Han," she murmured quietly. She hesitated to make him feel like he wasn't enough for her, but he was also her confident in everything, the only person she ever really grieved to – and for now, she was…consumed with the grief; she didn't try to contain it - she was afraid of the damage it would do if she did.

"I know you can't do anything about this," she whispered, closing her eyes. "But I…want my mother."

 _Mama,_ she thought faintly, _Mama, how did you get through it?_ She could hardly remember missing her mother so desperately – on her wedding day, perhaps, but little had dampened her happiness then; she had missed Breha nostalgically, but not to the point of distress – but how she ached for her now, wanted her mother's understanding touch on her forehead, a kiss on the cheek, the quiet kindness of her voice in her ear.

Han leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead empathetically – missing a mother was something he could relate to – and he didn't feel betrayed by her desire for her mother, or resented, or belittled; he was only sorry he could do nothing but hold her hand tighter, and swear to her, silently, that they would get through this.

* * *

 _anything from chapter, say ... 26 of Identity seem familiar?_

 _\- alexandra_


	5. Four

_a/n: this is my favorite chapter of this story. maybe one of my favorite chapters in the entire series. but, y'know, no pressure to like it._

* * *

 _Four_

 _7 ABY_

* * *

Han wasted little time making preparations to leave Coruscant – or rather; he wasted little time enlisting help where he needed it so he and Leia would be able to leave for Corellia as soon as she was medically cleared. He remained wary of her lack of resistance in agreeing to the trip, and he hadn't wanted to give her time to change her mind.

Chewbacca ensured the _Falcon_ was in pristine condition and would encounter no mechanical problems, and Tavska handled Leia's professional engagements – Han had briefly found himself commanding the situation in the way Leia most often did. He had plenty of responsibility in the course of his military duties, but he rarely made socially logistical decisions – and there he had been, deciding what needed to be packed, determining who Tavska could tell the extent of the problem to, and when, and balancing that with his reluctance to leave Leia's side, even if she was asleep.

He _handled_ it, though, and rather seamlessly; he was told Leia could go home in the afternoon following the night it happened, but he hadn't let them release her until it had been a full day – in both an effort to reassure himself that she was okay, and to ensure it was so late when they left that there was no chance of press seeing it.

Though he had made sure she was cleared for interspace travel as well as release, he had planned to spend a night or two at home to let her recuperate a little, just on the off chance something happened – but Leia hadn't wanted to sleep in their bed, and he supposed he should have anticipated that –

So – barely a day and a half later, they were hurtling through hyperspace away from the voyeuristic shadows of Coruscant; by standard nightfall on the third day they were tucked away in the Corellian mountains, and when Han had settled everything, as best as he could, and had given himself a some time to reassess things, take some deep breaths, and orient himself – he sat down to place a call to Bail.

Seated downstairs, in the minimalist office that existed in the chalet – nothing more than a little comm console center in the corner, really; a place for Leia to work if they were here and it was for some reason deeply urgent – he leaned forward on his elbows, the sharp points of them digging into his knees. Watching the flat steel disk shimmer with the fade-in, fade-out of the Organa seal as he waited for his father-in-law to answer, he ran his hand over his knuckles, his jaw a little tight. He rested his teeth lightly against his fist, unfocused, staring at the image, yet listening for sounds of Leia moving upstairs.

His gaze had drifted up to a moss painting hanging in the alcove, a vibrant artistic work of forest greens and indigo blues, depicting some wild flower field on Alderaan – he'd bought it for Leia years ago, maybe some time before Hoth, without any real understanding of how precious moss paintings were on her home planet.

He'd just thought she'd like it – and she _did_ , she had almost been speechless, and it was one of the first times she'd looked at him with some…admiring wonder, and one of the first times Han had thought, his heart skipping a few beats – _kriff, Solo, you – you've got it bad for this woman –_

"Hello, Han."

The Viceroy's greeting interrupted his reverie quietly, and Han wrenched his eyes away from the painting, drawing his knuckles away from his mouth a little and clearing his throat – there were indentions from his teeth on his index finger, and he loosened his fist, flexing his fingers.

"Hey," Han answered gruffly.

The two of them looked at each other for a beat – Bail, Han noticed, was in Leia's office; Coruscant was on roughly the same rotation as Corellia, though Han calculated it was several hours earlier there. After a moment, Han arched an eyebrow dryly, and Bail folded his hands formally.

"How's the weather?" he asked bluntly.

Han looked at him in mild surprise for a moment, and then snorted, grateful for the breakthrough in the tension, the uncertainty of the silence. He rubbed his hand over his mouth and then gave a sweeping gesture.

"Great," he said. "Warm. Sun just set. No black smoke polluting the air," he listed dryly.

Bail nodded.

"Well, now that we've established that," he said, his shoulders falling a bit. "The sun just set?"

Han nodded, his own shoulders slumping. He still rested his weight on his elbows, ignoring the dull ache that was starting to pester his lower back – he'd been sitting in this position too often lately. He glanced around, wrinkling his brow a little.

"Still a little light out," he muttered, for lack of anything better to say – he had promised to give Bail a call and let him know that they had arrived safe, and were settling in all right – and Han hadn't done so right away, which he was sure Bail expected.

He wasn't entirely sure what to say, though – with the chaos of the past few days dying down, the panic and fear that defined his emotions for several nights had faded into the dull acceptance that this _had_ happened, and physically, Leia was going to be okay – he didn't know what was left to say, and so, after a moment, he offered –

"She's asleep," he grunted. "Been asleep for a while," he added.

Han nodded.

"Your flight was okay?"

Han shrugged a little jerkily, his brow twitching. He frowned, and shook his head, and Bail leaned forward, worried.

"S'not – a big deal," Han placated gruffly. "The…gravity changes messed with her, y'know, they cleared her to fly, but it still made her pretty sick," he explained, trailing off.

He swallowed hard and looked down at his knees, sitting up a little. He braced one palm on his thigh.

"And uh," he started. "I'd made this…I did a," he waved one hand vaguely, "modification on one of the bunks, in the cabin," he said. "I did it…weeks ago," he explained tersely. "For…to make it…baby safe," he explained with a grimace.

Bail sat back a little, leaning heavily back into Leia's chair. His lips turned down grimly as he listened.

"Guess I kind of forgot it was there," Han muttered. "'Cause I was…thinkin' about everything else."

He bit his lip roughly for a moment, chewing on it thoughtfully, then looked back up to meet Bail's eyes and give an uncomfortable shrug, as if waiting for judgment – kriff, he'd been so – so sorry that was _there,_ when they were quieting down after the hyperspace jump – even though Leia said nothing about it, he'd seen her stop dead in her tracks for a moment when she walked into the bunk room; he'd seen her focus on that spare bunk.

He'd tried to mitigate its presence by getting past her and throwing their bags on it, but somehow that seemed to make it more obvious – and Leia still didn't say anything, just quietly went into the 'fresher alone to wash off the hospital, and then came to bed – and slept, with her back facing the bunkroom, almost the entire trip.

"You can't erase the reminders," Bail said finally. "There was a lot of excitement. And it isn't realistic to wait to make plans until later, in case something happens," he trailed off, sighing – there was just as much harm in being radically pessimistic as there was in brash optimism, and Han and Leia had had no reason to be pessimistic – not like he and Breha had learned to be.

Bail shook his head.

"Breha's first, I bought her a crystal rattle, a keepsake, with the name we'd chosen engraved on it," he trailed off again, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk and scratch his jaw tensely. "Don't blame yourself," he muttered.

Han said nothing for a moment.

"What'd she do with it?" he asked. He sat back. "Br – your wife," Han amended, narrowing his eyes – "Leia says I say it wrong," he muttered. "The rattle," he asked.

Bail frowned, glancing down to think, his brow furrowed.

"Well, she never gave it to Leia," he mumbled to himself, parsing it out – what had happened to that? He knew she hadn't gotten rid of it, she had, she – "She kept it in her jewelry box," he said finally. "Next to Leia's," he paused, looking sheepish – "er, toddler tiara."

Han arched his eyebrows.

"She had a toddler tiara?"

"She _was_ a princess even when she was two."

Han laughed a little, the sound muffled in his knuckles – his hands hovered near his face, and he kept his voice low; he didn't want to wake Leia. He didn't think she'd mind him talking to her father – and in any case, he wasn't reporting on her or anything; he was talking to the Viceroy as much for his own benefit as for hers.

Han dug his toe into the floor.

"S'just wonderin' if I should dismantle the modifications – "

Bail shook his head.

"You don't want to do that," he said softly.

"I don't want Leia to have to look at 'em, and think about – "

"Of course you don't," Bail said calmly, "but there's no point in…erasing it, either," he said, lifting his shoulders. "You don't want her to think you're giving up. She needs," he sighed tiredly, "hope."

Han looked at him warily.

"That sounds stupid, doesn't it?" Bail asked dryly.

Han shrugged.

"No," he answered flatly.

It didn't – and Bail was right, the last thing, the last thing Han wanted to do was convey to Leia that he was over this, in any way, because despite how nervous he'd been at the prospect of fatherhood, real fatherhood, he wanted that, and he wanted to share that with her, and now, in addition to the pain he felt over the loss, he was afraid she would be scared off the idea forever.

"You _do_ say her name wrong," Bail ventured. "Breha's."

Han noticed Bail said it the same way Leia had explained to him, and he scowled, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"She said she – " he started, and then stopped – _didn't want to name the baby Breha because of that–_ weren't there rules about discussing baby names? He was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to let anyone know they'd even started talking about that – or what they'd talked about – Bail waited politely, and when it became obvious that Han wasn't going to finish, he went on:

"Breha wouldn't have minded," he said quietly. "She would have thought it was sweet."

Han smiled a little. He sat back a little more, and folded his arms across his chest tightly.

"Well, my ma's name's easy," he said, supplying gruffly, before Bail could ask – "Jaina," he said. "Translates to anything."

"Much like your name does," Bail noted.

"Yeah," Han grunted. "Guess she wanted me to blend in."

He frowned a little, and then cocked his head to the side.

"This is a weird conversation," he muttered at Bail.

Bail took a deep breath.

"Everything feels like weird conversation after a monumental loss," he said wisely. "I…often felt like there was something dramatically wrong with me if I inquired about what Rouge would like for dinner when we had just been pulled out of the void of Alderaan."

That drew a small laugh out of Han.

"You know what else was dramatically wrong with you? Thinkin' I was some kind of menacing threat to Leia's well-being," he drawled. "Remember that? 'Member when you thought that, _Dad_?"

Bail compressed his lips, smiled a little.

"Yes," he said, with a small sigh. "Well, you've certainly been anything but that."

Han tilted his head back a little, looking up at the ceiling – _anything but that._ He did everything in his power to be an asset to her well-being. Bail fell silent again, and then, after a moment, finally asked –

"How is she?"

Han had been expecting that question – in fact, he was surprised it had taken Bail so long to ask, but at the same time, he was strangely comforted that Bail had been plenty willing to just…shoot the shit with him for a bit. He was taken aback to realize he'd been glad to know Bail didn't just want to know about Leia – it seemed Han had been stuck thinking he and Bail got along fine, and got along because of Leia, but it occurred to him abruptly that it wasn't really just that any more – hell, he and Leia's father _liked_ each other.

They had their own relationship outside of her, and he wasn't sure when that had happened.

Distracted by that for a moment, Han was slow to answer – then he ran a hand over his mouth, leaning forward again. He winced as his back protested, and rested his forearms back onto his thighs.

"I - she's…fine," he answered. "I mean, not fine," he backtracked, "but…she's…she's okay," he trailed off.

Bail looked marginally relieved.

"I worried," Bail said thoughtfully, sitting back himself. "She agreed to go without argument. Leave all her work. I thought it was weird," he paused. "What I mean is, in light of how I know she…can be, now…I expected…her to argue with you."

Han was nodding as Bail spoke.

"Yeah, weird," Han agreed. He rested his chin in his knuckles. "It was _weird_ , but," he shrugged. "She seems okay," he said again, and shrugged. "She's talking to me."

"Good," Bail said quietly.

She was – she _was_ …Han didn't know what to say. She was subdued, but she wasn't catatonic. She hadn't been crying – most of their trip on the _Falcon_ , she had spent either trying to sleep, or sick in the 'fresher, and Han had kept his distance when she wanted him too – she never liked an audience while she was sick.

Despite his mild protests, she had helped him pilot out of Coruscant, sat in the cockpit for a while making small talk, spending time with him – the most important thing to him, regarding her attitude since leaving the hospital, was that she seemed to really want to be close to him, and he'd had some…peripheral fears, that he was just now identifying, that she might – somehow not be able to stand looking at him, or something.

"I didn't see much of her at the Med Center," Bail allowed, "but she seemed despondent, and I…worried."

Han frowned a little.

"She's not despondent," he muttered. "She's not…bein' _quiet_ isn't really Leia's version of depression," he added – rather, it was hyperactivity; _robotic_ efficiency.

He felt silent, thinking back to some of their muted conversations on the _Falcon_. She had just asked about who was handling things – who knew – _only Tavska and Evaan; your father's going to tell everyone else; don't worry about that, Sweetheart_ – and, oddly, where he got the leather he had redone the seats with.

Han grimaced.

"I don't know what's normal for women after somethin' like this, but she's actin'…normal," he said, frustrated with his inability to explain it. "She's…sad. Not hidin' it." He arched his brows a little, looking down at his palm, rubbing his thumb along the lines there. "I think it's the first time she's handled something in a, uh, healthy way since…before I met her," he admitted gruffly.

He flexed his fingers – last night, she'd held his hand against her abdomen the entire time she slept – _your hand feels good there,_ she whispered – _it's warm._

"I guess," Han said. "I dunno." He looked up intently. "How did she used to handle bad stuff on Alderaan?"

Bail blinked, finding himself startled by the question. He pondered it for a moment, and then smiled ruefully.

"I'd say…there wasn't anything _bad_ I can think of. Not to say she had no heartache, but I don't know if I feel comfortable comparing anything in her childhood to anything – since," he said slowly. "Perhaps Giles Durane…but Leia never seemed quite bothered by that, not like I was," he said dryly. "Sabé's death, perhaps," he said quietly. "Her governess, when she was fourteen. She never behaved in a way that I thought needed intervention, in terms of mental health."

He stopped, reflecting silently for a while.

"You know, after Sabé's death, she _did_ sleep with Breha for a few days. I slept on a couch."

Han bowed his head, his chest tightening a little at the mention. Her mother – in times of great sorrow, Leia wanted her mother, and for so long, she hadn't had that – and hadn't even been able, he figured, to acknowledge that she needed her badly. So it was a good sign, maybe, that she wanted Breha Organa so much – but terrible that Han couldn't give her that.

"Yeah," Han said. "She wants her mother," he said. He reached up to rub his temples roughly. "S'like…the only thing I can't, y'know…give her," he muttered.

"I can talk to her about Breha when she's ready," Bail offered heavily – he and Breha had never discussed their trials in parenthood with Leia. She knew that they hadn't been able to have children, and she knew Breha had miscarriages, but little more – and perhaps having more of a connection with her in that regard might help.

Han's brow furrowed suddenly, and he lowered his hand.

"She doesn't have women to talk to," he grunted, as if it was dawning on him. "Not about this."

She had – Winter, for girl talk, he supposed, and he thought she got along well with Evaan and Dansra – and he'd noticed Tavska had been around their apartment lately for social, rather than professional, visits – but she didn't have friends who were mothers, or older women who could – except for maybe –

"D'you think maybe one of the Naberries – " he started.

Bail pre-empted him a little.

"Perhaps," he said slowly. "She did take their insights to heart about children," he said, sighing: "but Han, you can't just… _ask_ one of the Naberrie women if they've had a miscarriage."

Han's lips turned down sourly – he knew that; he wouldn't dream of it. Despite what little experience he had in this department, it was instinctive for him not to ambush other people by asking about what private sorrows they may or may not have had.

"I still haven't spoken with them," Bail murmured.

Han dipped his head forward, thinking of something else Leia had said –

 _We shouldn't have told anyone yet._

 _It was barely anyone, Leia._

She'd shrugged a little, compressing her lips, and he'd kissed her cheek, and gotten her some juice from the galley – and then, thinking twice, offered her a drink _– I can't drink,_ she started, and then, pausing, frowned – _I guess I can, now._

She still declined the alcohol, but she _did_ take some kaffe.

"I think she figures…we got too excited, too fast, y'know – "

Bail waved his hand a little dismissively, though not unkindly.

"You should," he said firmly. "I've never been fond of the idea that you should just hide it and obsess over what could go wrong. I know Leia never intended a public announcement, and I understand that, but…we know she's lost something, and it may be difficult for the two of you right now, but you'll be glad of having a circle of people who understand. It doesn't help anything to also be concealing grief from your family."

Han looked up and raised his eyebrows.

"I feel like I'm in a damn counseling session," he griped good-naturedly.

Bail blinked at him sternly.

"Isn't that why you called?" he retorted.

Han grinned a little. He sat back lazily, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankles.

"Kriff," he muttered. "Sure. Yeah."

Maybe it was. He'd called to let Bail know he and Leia was safe, and Leia was still hanging in there, but just like he'd instinctively know he'd need Bail's advice in the hospital, he knew he'd benefit from talking to Bail now.

He looked up again, and shifted his weight.

"She's sleepin' a lot," he offered. "Just…sleepin'," he said, almost to himself.

He was glad she was finding it so easy to sleep. He still felt a little apprehensive, like it hadn't all really, really crashed down on her yet – but there was little more he could do right now than just be glad she had wanted to come be alone with him out here.

He heard some faint noise up on the loft level, and frowned.

"Actually, I think she's up," he muttered.

Bail cleared his throat.

"I don't want to keep you," he said. "You and Leia left to be alone, and you should be," he said.

Han didn't answer right away, distracted by listening – he heard Leia on the stairs, and for a moment he was unsure if she'd be angry he was on the comm with her father – would she feel…betrayed, spied on? Or would she understand that her father just wanted to make sure she – they – were alright –

He sat up straight, as Leia appeared down the loft ladder, enveloped in her winter robe. He turned back to look at her, then turned to look at Bail, who saw her approaching. Silent, Leia came to stand behind Han, running her hands over his shoulders softly.

Han looked up at her warily, and she patted his shoulder, looking past him to her father.

"Hi, Daddy," was all she said, a soft, sleepy murmur.

"Hello, Lelila."

Han turned to look at her, and her lips turned up – it wasn't a smile, but it was a gentle look, and Han grunted in understanding, swiveling back to Bail.

"Signin' off," he said.

Bail nodded.

"You two take care of each other," he instructed, and Leia gave him a little nod, watching his image fade.

She didn't say anything – nothing about Han speaking with him, nothing at all, and he turned in his chair, reaching out for the tie on the thick, fluffy robe.

"Why're you wearin' this?" he asked slowly – it wasn't the Winter season here, and he himself was faintly warm.

"I'm cold," she answered huskily. "I think I'm a little anemic."

He started to stand.

"I'll turn the heat up."

Leia caught his hips in her hands, hesitating.

"Would you mind starting a fire?" she asked, tilting her head back a little at the hearth. "I want to…just…sit in front of it."

"Okay," Han agreed – he'd just peel off layers of clothes, if he got too hot. He reached out to twist a tendril of her hair around his finger. "You hungry?" he asked, brow furrowing. "You haven't eaten in a while."

Her fingers plucked at his belt, and she nodded.

"A little," she admitted.

"Okay," Han repeated. "I'll light a fire, and fix you somethin'," he said.

"Thank you," she murmured. She stared at his chest. "How's Dad?"

"Oh, he's – y'know. Fine."

She nodded again. He touched her cheek, catching her eye.

"You alright? You need anything else right now?"

She splayed her hands on his chest, and then pulled them back to herself, cupping her wrist in one hand.

"Music," she murmured slowly. "I…want to listen to your radio."

He cocked his head curiously, and then nodded – so, he'd get that out too, and she could sit over there near the stone hearth and close her eyes, and listen. She bit her lip, and reached out to squeeze his elbow, letting go and turning to go make herself comfortable by the fireplace.

Han stood for a moment, his brow creased, watching her. He reached up to rub his hand over the place on his chest she'd been touching – _was_ she okay? Was she on the verge of losing her mind, starting to scream, falling over the edge – or was she really just… _coping_ , finding strength somewhere? He wasn't sure what to think – so he followed her lead, and he started the fire, and turned on the radio – and fixed her something to eat.

* * *

Without work, without set schedules – with all the _sleep_ she was doing – time seemed to run together for them, and Leia wasn't sure if it was the second, or the third night they were on Corellia that she had a nightmare. It was a long time coming, she thought – she'd expected it, even, and perhaps that was why she hadn't startled out of it too violently – no screaming, no thrashing – just lingering nausea, and shortness of breath, and an ache in her abdomen –all things she could also attribute to the – to the –

 _Miscarriage_.

She flinched at the word, even at the silent thought of it; she had been doing so good with not saying it out loud – she wasn't in denial of it, she just…the word was so harsh, and so – final.

Burying her face in her arm for a moment, she tried to take a deep breath, and felt sicker. She pressed her lips together and reached out for Han, grasping his arm firmly. Her fingers slipped over his shoulder and she lifted her head a little, shaking him.

"Mmhm? Yeah?" he mumbled sleepily, pulling his arm from under the pillow and reaching out for her. He moved his head, eyes lifting open a little in the dark. He started to pull her closer, but she resisted.

"Han," she whispered.

"Mmmmmawake," he answered.

"I know," she said gently. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"S'okay."

"I had a nightmare," she said, sitting up a little more. "I don't feel well," she added faintly.

Han turned onto his back and lifted his head, blinking at her. She drew herself upright completely and gave him a tired look, and he nodded, silently understanding – she hadn't wanted him to worry, so she let him know –

"I'm, um, I'm okay," she said shakily, "but I'm…going to sit in the…'fresher," she said haltingly.

Han rubbed his brow a little.

"You going to get in the water, or just sit by the sani?" he mumbled, voice thick with sleep. "Don't get under the water," he said. "Don't…you might fall asleep'n drown."

Leia parted her lips, a strange feeling tickling at her throat a – a – laugh; she laughed a little, incredibly shocking as it was – was Han _delirious_ ; did he really think she'd drown if she fell asleep under a spray of water - ? Her stomach lurched as soon as she laughed, and she grimaced, leaning forward to press a kiss to Han's forehead – _good man,_ she thought to herself; _the best_ –

He turned his head up to accept the kiss, and nodded, pulling the sheets back a little for her. Leia slipped out of bed and made her way to the 'fresher, turning on only the little nightlight over the sink. She opened the medicine cabinet, blinking wearily, and retrieved some of the vitamins the medic had given her to help with her recovery.

Swallowing them with a cup of water, Leia took a towel from the rack, and a decanter of mouthwash, and sat down gingerly on the edge of the spa Jacuzzi, her eyes on the sani. Her stomach was still churning, and she kept – reflecting on the nightmare – oh, it wasn't new; it was an old threat, actually, one she'd confronted several times at Varykino, and the months before – _Vader,_ sweeping in to somehow snatch her baby away.

It was so much more visceral now – it had been disturbing then, but now, _now_ –

Leia closed her eyes tightly and bowed her head, bending over almost until her nose touched her knees – she was so uncomfortable, physically, emotionally – in every possible way; she felt desperate to be close to Han, and yet desperate to shut herself away from him, not because he was too sharp a reminder, but because this was so – so – unpretty.

She didn't think it was vanity that kept taking a hold of her, but some – instinct, that wanted to preserve Han's perception of her, of what this whole process was like – it wasn't supposed to be this way, bloody, and exhausting, and full of technical terms and insensitive doctors – they were supposed to just get pregnant, have a charming forty weeks – have a _baby_ at the end of it -

Leia grit her teeth, choking back a sob – she still felt nauseous, and her abdomen was throbbing dully – intermittent, fading cramps, and bleeding, she had been told, was relatively normal; nature still taking care of her, to get her back in working order.

Her nausea faded into a headache at her temples, and she lifted her head, parting her knees. Gritting her teeth again when she experienced a sharper throb in her stomach, she brought her foot up to rest it on the sani and assess the situation between her legs.

There wasn't much blood – not anymore. She stood up – peeled off her panties anyway, shredding the pad shed been wearing in her hands and wrapping it in tissue before she threw it away – she thrust her towel down on the floor and sank to the ground, staring ahead of her, eye-level with the sani. She tucked the towel between her legs, and closed her eyes, pressing her hand against herself aimlessly.

If she didn't go back to bed soon, Han would come looking for her – and maybe she wanted him to. She felt…broken and devastated and she was tired, so tired, and now perhaps the Force thought her recovered enough to let nightmares plague her again, and she didn't want to go back to sleep. She didn't know what she wanted, other than answers – but she was afraid of those, too, because this was just – just – exactly what she'd been terrified of; that she'd gotten pregnant so easily didn't eradicate her fears – not when she knew there could be other problems – not when her own mother had never been able to sustain a pregnancy –

There was a soft knock on the door, and Leia, unsure how she could even physically manage it, broke into a muted, wry smile – _there he was._

He was so – he was so –

Smart, for bringing her here. She needed to be here. She needed –

"Leia, you okay?" he asked quietly.

She looked up, and nodded.

"I'm, I'm just," she broke off, and sighed. "Don't turn the light on," she murmured. "I'm bleeding a little."

He visibly tensed.

"You need a – "

She shook her head slowly.

"It's normal," she offered faintly.

Han stood in the doorway.

"You…want me to leave you alone?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"No," she said. "Not really."

He took a step forward.

"Mind if I sit with you?" he asked.

Leia tilted her head back against the wall, the back of her skull making a soft _thump_. She gave a little nod, and started to answer – _please sit with me_ – but she barely had a chance to get the words out – she started:

"Han – "

\- and just his _name_ dissolved into a sob; she was usually well aware of when she was about to lose all of her resolve, but this came unexpectedly, from some deep, intense well of grief she hadn't fully tapped into until this moment, sitting on the restroom floor, confronted with the – last, fading remnants, in a way, of what they'd lost – dull, fading cramps, and dark, stale blood.

Despite the sudden onslaught of tears, Han didn't leap into a fumbling panic; his jaw tightened miserably, but he kept moving deliberately, and calmly, taking his time to sit down next to her and slide his arm comfortingly around her shoulders. Leia was unable to speak, for a moment, her shoulders heaving violently, head bowed forward and tucked into her knees.

He kept running his hand over her shoulder, letting her take her time – this was – much more in line with what he'd expected, though he didn't think her earlier calm, subdued coping had been unhealthy, per se; this was probably an integral part, sheer, unfettered heartache – and Leia had experienced some of that, the night it happened, before they sedated her, but since then, she hadn't cried, and now – he figured now it was all embedding itself, the finality of it.

She held her hands tightly against her chest, and then lifted her head a little, her eyes fixed on her knees.

"I am so tired of this, Han," she choked finally. "I am so tired of being hurt, I am so tired of having things – things – taken away from me!" she sobbed – angry, and confused, and lost, all at once – she so often bore the tragedies in her life with grace, that she deserved a chance to question why, _why_ – "I don't understand. This isn't – this _isn't_ – fair, it's not fair."

He turned his head to kiss her temple, holding his lips there, closing his eyes. He nodded his head in agreement – it wasn't, and there was no explanation, nothing he could say, to make them feel better – _it just happens sometimes,_ the nurse had told him, and even Dr. Mellis hadn't had much for them – _its…commonplace, Han_ –

"I should have known – that this wouldn't be easy, that I wouldn't be allowed to have something this – _simple_ , and normal," she broke off, throwing her head back again, her eyes fixed on the ceiling.

She bit at her lip, her lips moving tensely, opening her eyes, and then closing them tightly again.

"I resisted," she cried hoarsely, "I resisted everything, every bit of torture – I never told them anything, _never_ betrayed my family, or the Rebellion – and they _took_ Alderaan, they _took_ my body – they took everything else from me. Why can't I have this?" she demanded.

Her lips trembled again, and she turned her head to the side, lashes fluttering, her face pale, wet – and she rested her chin on Han's shoulder, pressing closer to him, asking for answers, answers he didn't have - she reached up to wipe at her eyes, kept wiping them, and it did nothing to stem the flow of tears.

Her head throbbed miserably, aching with crying as much as anything else, and she licked her lips - she felt insecure, and violated, and somehow belittled, so consuming was her belief that this was something the Empire had done to her, made her body somehow – uninhabitable – made certain that even if she won the war, she'd still be a casualty.

"I have paid – my dues in sadness, Han," she moaned, her voice raw, "and I can't handle anymore. I can't," she shook her head, her head tipping forward. She brought her hands up to cover her face, gripped with resistance and despair – "I _won't_ do this again," she snapped angrily – at herself, and at no one in particular – _I am not going to let the Empire torture me from their ashes, I won't risk this, this – heartbreak –_

Han swallowed hard, tucking her head against his shoulder and wrapping his arm around her more tightly. His chest tightened with dread at her words, at the defeat in her voice – _kriff_ , she sounded so defeated – he didn't want her to be conquered by this, he didn't want her to lose hope so entirely – the loss was still so fresh, and he had to believe that when she'd had more time to heal, she wouldn't be so willing to call this attempt - their only attempt.

She had no right to write herself off - they didn't know if it was a Death Star induced anomaly; they didn't know _anything_. Dr. Mellis – Leia had finally been able to see her physician right before they left, and Dr. Mellis, for Leia's sake had promised to run some tests to see, but she told them – sympathetic, but earnest – that this just – it just happened; she was so careful to gently, repeatedly tell them that it wasn't exactly out of the ordinary for Leia to experience this.

 _I by no means am implying that you aren't to be sad, you have every right to be devastated, Leia, but please understand – we don't always know why, but we do know that statistically, one incidence isn't cause for concern –_

Leia had such a different background, though – and he knew she was scared, and devastated, and now subject to a tragedy that, by virtue of confirmation bias, reinforced the belief she held that there was some irrevocable damage done to her – and Han suffered by extension of her suffering, hated how hurt she was, even if he recognized that his own feeling over the loss had less depth, had more – abstract focus to it.

Leia licked her lips, pushing her hands back through her hair, knotting her fingers into it.

"The Empire – Vader, my father, my own fucking father – he took my past, my people, and now he takes my future?" she burst out, words shaking. "And he took it from you," she gasped, her voice cracking again, "he took this away from _you,_ too, Han," she broke into fresh tears, pressing her wrist against her mouth.

Shifting one knee up, Han turned his head towards her, studying her profile. He stroked her hair, and leaned over to kiss her jaw, trailing his lips up to her ear, his voice low, placating –

"Don't do this to yourself, Sweetheart," he pleaded. "We don't know anything. We don't _know_ what happened. Don't," he said again. His fingers pressed into her scalp, drawing little, soothing circles. He verged on telling her – _Sweetheart, this isn't our only chance_ – and he bit his tongue, on Bail's advice – _don't just tell her you can have another._

Leia said nothing for a while, preoccupied with tears, hugging her hands to her chest again, and then she shook her head roughly.

"I have to assume the worst. It will hurt less than – having any hope, and being disappointed," she choked out.

Han took a deep breath, burying his face in her hair.

"Okay," he murmured. "Okay."

He kissed her hair, reaching up to cup her face in his palm and pull her close to his chest – it had been a long time since Leia was so raw, since she was entirely wrenched open and pouring her soul out, and it ate at him; he felt vague guilt, for wanting a baby in the first place, he felt bewildered, and betrayed by nature, and all of it tugged at the back of his throat, and the corners of his eyes, like – acid, or alcohol, burning, _searing_.

"I'm gonna be here, Leia," he murmured quietly – she'd had such fear that he might – he might leave her, if she didn't want a baby; he couldn't let her think, even for a second, that he'd do such a thing if it turned out she _couldn't_. "You've got me. I'm here."

She nodded, pulling his arm close and holding onto it. She kept saying things, disconnected thoughts, really consumed by grief, and Han listened, he stumbled through responses when he could, he tried to say the right thing. She hugged his arm closer, then again pressed his palm hard against her abdomen, keeping it there tightly.

He wasn't sure what she needed right now – he didn't think she knew, either – just to cry a lot, most likely, and vent any feelings that she couldn't contain – she'd never had anything like this, he didn't think, after the destruction of Alderaan, and he was sure that she was overwhelmed by how much she was feeling.

Time was so…unreal, right now, and he didn't know how long they sat there, how long it took her to calm down, and even when her tears had dried some, she made no effort to move –

"Han," she whispered. "That – what you did to the bunk, on the _Falcon_ , I – "

"Yeah," Han muttered heavily. "Yeah, I'm – sorry I know that was hard for you to look at…didn't… feel great for me either."

Leia swallowed hard.

"I loved it," Leia said tightly. "I loved it, and I don't think I told you – how much."

He tilted his head to look at her, smiling a little – hadn't quite what he'd been expecting her to say –

"I loved it so much, Han," Leia said, her voice hitching huskily, "it's so sweet, it's such a – _you_ thing to do."

"Chewie kept callin' it _nesting_ ," Han said gruffly. " _Nestin'_ – "

Leia muffled a few soft sobs in her hands, and Han swallowed hard, kicking himself –

"Sorry, Leia, I'm sorry," he started.

" _I'm_ sorry," she whispered back. She bit her lip a few times, and turned to look at him, her eyes red and swollen – "You would be…such a good father," she bit her lip again. "I'm sorry."

He stared down at his feet for a moment, setting his jaw, and then he turned, his arm slipping off of her as he faced her.

"Don't apologize to me again," he said.

He didn't say it harshly, or dismissively, or rudely – and it wasn't a command; it was a statement, and a firm, sincere request, but it was very final, and it didn't give her much room for argument.

"You hear me, Leia?" he asked gently. "Don't apologize to me." He leaned closer, holding her gaze. "You didn't _do_ this." He parted his lips, lifting his shoulders. "It just happened."

She caught her tongue between her teeth, looking back at him steadily. She closed her eyes, tears dripping off her lashes, and nodded, inching over to curl up into his side. She tucked her ear against his chest, listening for the sound of his heartbeat, and caught her breath, the ache in her soothed a little by that sound, that comforting, rhythmic sound – it filled the eerie silence that had plagued her since she'd – since she'd lost the faint, aural hum of the baby's heart.

He tilted his head against hers, lifting his chin a little to murmur –

"I don't want you to talk like this is it for us," he mumbled.

Leia leaned against him heavily. She said nothing, but pressed his hand to her abdomen again, twisting her fingers into his. She rested her nose against his shoulder, and then moved closer and kissed his neck, kissed his jaw, and at last, kissed his lips – soft, and slow; not lustful, but – intimate.

"I think, ah…I think I'm going to take a shower," she murmured, pulling away slightly – her lips still brushed his, and she swallowed, giving a small nod as if to decide – she wanted to wash off some of the grit of the past few days – or feel like she was washing it off.

Han nodded, reaching over to squeeze her knee.

"Want me to wash your hair?"

She was silent for a moment, and then reached up to brush her fingers along his brow, tilting her head.

"Go back to bed, Han," she said softly. "You need to sleep, too."

She knew he'd been up with her, or up watching her; she knew he can't have gotten any since – a few nights ago, and his health and well being were important, too. She had yet to really sit down and ask him – how he was – but she at least recognized she wasn't able to do it right now, and he was so good in his unyielding support.

He nodded, giving her a dull, lopsided smile.

"I'm prob'ly gonna lurk outside the door 'til you come out," he admitted dryly, and Leia lowered her lashes in understanding, almost anticipating that.

She nodded, and he stood, crouching down again to help her up. He hooked his arm under hers, and he picked up the towel she'd been using, too, examining it without flinching, to make sure it did seem like a harmless amount of blood, and tossing it into the sink. She took a moment to squeeze his elbows in appreciation, and then run her hands over his chest – and then, one final time tonight, step closer and wrap him in a hug. He rested his hand on her lower back protectively, and she thought – _my God, the first time I told him I loved him, did I ever think I'd love him like_ this _?_

She couldn't even have comprehended the depth of it, back then – nor could she have ever anticipated he'd love her this intensely in return.

* * *

When she woke up, just before dawn, she braced herself tensely, anticipating the rush of sadness that was sure to hit her – and though it was there, not in a rush, but just in underlying presence, what she was more overwhelmingly feeling was a quiet, almost peaceful relief that she had a chance to get up and watch the sunrise.

She took great pains not to wake Han – yet as she quietly tiptoed around, she was fairly sure there wasn't much chance of that. He was clearly exhausted, sleeping so heavily even her slipping out from under his arm hadn't disturbed him – usually he stirred just a little.

He wasn't awake when she went down to the kitchen to get herself some fresh juice and a plate of fruit, and he wasn't awake – hadn't even moved – when she went back up to the loft and slipped out onto the balcony, where she sat down in the corner, and tucked her breakfast down next to the stone railing, and peered through the carved stone columns to watch the Corellian sun peak and shine over the mountaintops.

She felt – well rested, a little better; her head had stopped hurting, so had her abdomen, for the most part. The persistent ache in her chest had not faded, but she supposed that would take a much longer time than the more physical ailments. The air was warm, springy, and the colours in the sky were beautiful – this cabin gave her such a feeling of safety and peace; it was the right place to be right now. She was glad Han had recognized that.

She picked up a slice of fruit and nibbled on it, picking off parts of the peel childishly, hearing her mother's words in her ear – _the peel is healthiest, Leia – don't pick at your food –_ Leia had always done it anyway. She did it anyway now, grateful she had an appetite – she knew Han would be relieved, too. She felt weak, and the few times she'd glanced at her reflection, she'd looked awful – drawn, and pale, and sick –

 _Normal_ , she thought to herself. _Normal, because I had a miscarriage, and it poisoned me from the inside._

She continued to eat the fruit thoughtfully, hoping Han would sleep for most of the morning – he couldn't have gotten much sleep lately. He certainly hadn't gotten any at the Med Centre, and he'd been restless on the _Falcon_ , as she faded in and out of sleep, facilitating between curling up in bed with her back to the spare bunk, and shutting herself in the 'fresher to vomit. She _wanted_ him to sleep – he was always up with her, always catering to her, and sometimes she wondered if he ever needed a break from the constant emotional toll she _had_ to take on him –

He never seemed bothered.

She had so wanted _this_ not to be something that took an emotional toll, on either of them, it was supposed to be the one thing, the one thing, that didn't go wrong, or end up tainted – they were far enough removed from the Empire and the war that it should have stopped overshadowing everything in their lives, and _yet_ – and yet.

Leia picked up her cup of juice and cradled it in both of her hands, looking down at it. The slight carbonation fizzed and reflected sun, and she took a deep breath, tilting her head back, her brow furrowing – it occurred to her, in a disjointed thought, that it had felt like that, the baby, moving around – she'd heard it described as butterflies before, but it was like…carbonation – at first.

She hadn't gotten a chance to fell what it was like – later. Neither had Han, and Han had been so…fascinated. He hadn't been able to feel it – and despite her neutral comments that Leia's instincts were more important than _her_ statistics, Leia knew Dr. Mellis hadn't really believed Leia was able to sense movement yet. She had, though; she knew she had, and right now she was thinking about how she'd asked Han not to flaunt the sono to her father, and she thought about how Han had stared at that thing for hours in bed the day they'd gotten it.

 _I can't tell what it is. It's too small._

Leia, pointing at where Dr. Mellis had pointed, tracing the outline for him – _it won't be small forever._

 _But it'll be small when it gets here, yeah? What if I drop it?_

 _I hope you pick it back up,_ she'd quipped.

Sitting on the balcony, she smiled a little tensely at the memory – she didn't think there was any chance of Han dropping a baby. Not the man who had successfully piloted through an asteroid field, who had survived six months of intense carbon poisoning –

She _knew_ it wasn't her fault – logically, she knew she'd done nothing wrong, and spiritually, some feeling lingered, some whispering apology from the Force, almost, something she wasn't ready to mediate on yet – but it seemed to plead with her: _it wasn't the right moment, it wasn't you, it was just – not well._ She knew all that, and she still felt an immense, tiring sadness separate from the obvious grief: she was mourning everything that Han had lost, too.

She didn't feel like she was suffering alone, but she felt Han had somehow been spared the worst of the grief, unable to feel it as she had been, but compounding his lesser grief was his worry for her, and she had some confusing mix of feelings that wished he was able to feel it on par with her, was glad he wasn't, and also – hated that his excitement over all of this had been doused so spectacularly.

Things looked a little better in the bright light or morning – less damning, less hopeless. She was intensely aware of her own fragility at the moment, but – Han might have been right, she should try to meter her thoughts – _don't talk like this is it for us._

The sun was visible over the mountaintops now, bursting over her face. The heat was a welcome comfort, and she took a long drink of juice, and went back to her fruit, losing track of time – she wasn't even sure how long she had been out there when she heard Han start moving around.

In fact, she saw him in the doorway of the balcony, rubbing his eyes, and then bit her lip a little as he disappeared, and she heard him go looking for her – she didn't make a move to get up; she knew he'd find her.

As it were, Han dragged his feet sleepily around the cabin in search of Leia, his brow furrowed in lazy puzzlement. There wasn't really anywhere for her to tuck herself away here. He was sure she hadn't left - she wouldn't - and he'd already checked the balcony, so where…? He frowned, trudging back up the stairs –

 _Ahhh_. He'd only poked his head out on the balcony; when he checked again, he found her, pressed up against the brick off to the side, taking refuge in the furthest corner. His cursory glance hadn't revealed her.

He left the glass door open as he stepped out and approached her, acknowledging the slight burn of hit pavement on his bare feet with a mild grimace. He fixated on her profile as he approached - the petite slope of her nose, the fragile pale pinkness of her cheeks - bright with recovery, and sunshine.

He was silent as he came to her side, and after a long moment lingering in that silence, Leia cleared her throat softly and turned her head a little, twitching her eyes up at him through her lashes.

He leaned his shoulder against the brick, arching his eyebrows.

"Why're you hiding from me?" he drawled lightly.

Leia smiled faintly.

"I'm not," she protested half-heartedly. She supposed it wasn't very convincing, since she hadn't called out to him when he'd first poked his head out. She gave a gentle little wince, at her lack of sincerity, and then shrugged. "Ah, well," she relented.

She sighed quietly, and bit her lip.

"I'm…feeling, um, self-conscious," she admitted, "about last night," she hesitated. "I'm sorry."

Han tilted his head, resting his temple again at the brick. He frowned, and then turned and gingerly sat down, his back pressing uncomfortably into the brick, shoulder sliding against hers gently.

"Leia," he answered gruffly, sighing. "C'mon, don't apologize to me. You know I don't care." He turned his head and gave her a pointed look. "Didn't we just talk about apologies, last night?" he asked seriously.

Leia gave a little shrug. She tilted her head towards him, chewing on her lower lip for a moment, her expression thoughtful.

"I was being…fatalistic," she whispered. She closed her eyes. "I'm not sorry for crying. I'm sorry I sounded so," she paused. "Hopeless. Dismissive? I don't know."

The thing was, she felt sorry for dismissing Han's feelings, Han's attempts at trying to make her feel better – he had been trying to ground her, give her some hope – and not with anything that belittled the loss; he'd never said anything as insensitive as _we'll just try again_ – and yet she had glossed over his comfort.

Han reached out and touched her shoulder, drawing his knuckles over her arm gently. He stepped a bit closer. He lowered his head to her ear.

"It's not hopeless," he murmured firmly.

She closed her eyes. After a moment, she nodded, smiled, and turned to look up at him.

"I feel better today," she confided slowly – sincere, in recognizing it. She felt better in the sunlight, she felt better with her fruit, and her bubbling juice, and she even felt a little better knowing that for a little while, they could just be here, away from the world.

She had time to wallow, and start to recover – both, really – and she shouldn't dwell on answers they didn't have yet – or she should try to compartmentalize that dread and fear for now, until it was more of a reality – if it even was.

Han smiled and moved forward to kiss her temple. She reached out and touched his cheek, pressing her palm against him lovingly.

"I was thinking of going to the market after breakfast," Han said quietly. "Want to go? Want anything specific? Might be nice to get out."

Leia turned towards him suddenly, sliding her arms around his waist. She pressed herself against him, hugging him tightly, her head falling forward into his shoulder – and she shook it, gently declining.

"Or I can stay," he offered.

Leia shook her head.

"Go," she encouraged. "I'm better. I'll check in with Tavska for a moment."

"Hmmm," Han's stern response rumbled through his chest, and Leia loosened her grip a little, pulling back.

"I want to talk to her a little," she said. "Not…I don't want to work. I don't want to _go_ back to work," she admitted. "I'm not ready yet. It might distract me, but," she sighed. "Wouldn't help for much, would it?"

Han turned and looked at her with raised eyebrows.

"Leia?" he asked, narrowing his eyes and scrutinizing her. He made a show of leaning forward and putting his hand against her forehead as if to check her temperature. "Who are you?" he muttered.

She smiled a little, even gave a quiet, hoarse laugh.

"I need a little context on how my absence is being handled," she said softly, wrinkling her nose and shaking off Han's hand gently. "What's been re-arranged, what." she sighed, "people are being told."

"Hmph," Han grunted. "Last I heard, Evaan was gonna mention it as an anniversary trip," he offered. "S'about the right time."

Leia splayed her hand out; looking at the ring Han had given her for their anniversary, several months ago. Han watched her for a moment, and then cleared his throat.

"What d'you think _they'll_ say?" he asked. "The press?"

Leia compressed her lips tightly, and curled her fingers in, running her thumb over the stone.

"I think they'll speculate that I had a miscarriage," she said flatly.

Han blinked, startled.

"What? No one knew you were – " he broke off, not wanting to say it out loud – _no one knew you were pregnant._

"No," Leia agreed grudgingly, "but the Media is…smart," she clicked her tongue edgily, and splayed her hand out again, still looking at the ring. "I cancelled several morning events that week I was feeling particularly bad," she muttered, "and I," she shrugged, unsure what else might have given it away – she had gained a little weight, filled out some, but she was thin to begin with, so she didn't look out of the ordinary.

She grimaced.

"Regardless of what they did or didn't know," she said huskily, "at least some news outlets will speculate that it was a miscarriage."

She lifted her shoulders.

"And…it was," she said quietly.

Her shoulders fell in an accepting shrug. Han reached up and rubbed his jaw, his eyes narrowing in the sunlight.

"I hate 'em, you know," he said under his breath. "The media."

"I know you do," she acknowledged softly. She took a deep breath, and picked up her last piece of fruit, biting it in half. She was quiet while she ate – finishing her breakfast, and then she took a deep breath. "I'll be okay. _We'll_ be okay," she murmured.

She brushed off her hands on her knees.

"At least here I have a chance to…confront it, right away," she reflected. Her brow furrowed. "Not something I usually do, is it?"

Han laughed hoarsely.

"I dunno, Your Worship," he said. "You ain't as bad as you used to be."

She smiled again – it felt so strange so smile, but she let it happen; she had learned, throughout the years, that feeling amusement, or happiness – was not a sin, was not a betrayal, or a contradiction, of deep sadness; rather it was a much-needed relief, and a sign of health – it was okay for her to feel some joy, even if everything was not perfect.

She sat forward a little, stretching out her legs, and swallowed hard, turning her face up to bask in the sun. She anticipated – a roller coaster of emotions for an undetermined amount of time, but for the moment, she _did_ feel okay. She felt strong enough to talk to Tavska a little, and regain her bearings.

She turned to look at him, reaching out to slip her hand into his loosely.

"Han, are you okay?" she ventured finally – she had asked in the Med Center, but she was hazy on what his answer had been – and she worried about him, worried that over the past several days, she hadn't given enough attention to him in return for the support he gave her.

"Yeah, 'm okay, Sweetheart," he answered smoothly. "'M okay."

She turned his hand over, looked down at his palm, and then pulled it towards her, tracing the lines there. Her brow furrowed a little.

"Are you hurting as much as I am?" she asked huskily. She looked up at him through her lashes. "Don't let me neglect you, Han."

He sat forward a little, a muscle in his jaw jumping a little. He shook his head a little, reaching up with his other hand to rub his mouth, and then sighing heavily.

"Ought to be honest, I guess," he muttered. "'M not hurtin' as much as you," he admitted. He lifted his shoulders. "I just…can't, not the same way. Not as much," he said gruffly. "But it's…not a good feelin'," he offered. He reached over and brushed his knuckles against her jaw. "Hurts that I can't do anythin' for you," he added gruffly.

Leia nodded, shifting back to lean against the brick again. She interlaced their fingers, bringing his hand up to kiss his knuckles. She understood what he was saying – and in the face of his bewildered, difficult to navigate, shallower grief, his attention to her, his understanding – meant all the more.

She cleared her throat.

"Go," she encouraged softly. "I should get up and about, you should," she agreed, trailing off confidently.

He nodded, clearing his throat.

"You want anything from the bazaar?" he asked.

Leia thought about it for a moment. She thought of the arallutes, back at home in their apartment, still blooming, none the wiser to what had happened – the same for the vase of them on her desk – _still blooming._ She felt a tug at her heart, and the back of her throat, and she took a breath, nodding.

"Bring me some flowers," she requested softly.

He arched his brows.

"Flowers," he repeated. "Sure, Princess," he said, a little amused. "I'll bring you some flowers."

She leaned over and kissed his shoulder, running her hand over him gently, murmuring a soft thank you - even to her, it felt like an odd, and out of place request – like she was sure it had been odd, and seemingly out of place when she calmly wanted to listen to music the other night, wrapped up by the fire.

He straightened up, rolling his head a little and wincing as his neck popped. He reached up and shoved his hand through his hair, gearing up to go get dressed, start the day – it was the first day, he realized, that either of them would really – get up, and start, on a regular cycle, since the night she'd lost the baby – and it felt eerie.

"Don't get too tangled up in work," he mumbled.

"I won't," she agreed. She took a deep breath. "I might…call Luke," she murmured. "I want to see if _he's_ okay."

Han sighed heavily.

"Yeah, the kid was pretty affected," he muttered, with a grimace. He stood, and extended his hand to her, which she took – and let him help her up. She started to bend back down to reach for her empty plate and cup, but Han preempted her, picking it up himself.

He picked up one of the uneaten peels and ate it; Leia wrinkled her nose a little at him.

"Hey, uh," he started. "Uh…I can't, uh, tell you what to do, I know that," he said sheepishly. "But…you're not gonna try to meditate, are you?" he asked. "Just," he sighed uncomfortably and looked up, chewing without speaking for a moment – _just 'cause it kind of fucks you up, and I'm not leavin' if you're gonna do it._

He almost glared at her apprehensively, and Leia smiled a little, leaning her shoulder against the brick wall. She shook her head.

"No," she said. "I want to talk to Luke a little about that," she admitted, "but I…don't feel very safe reaching out to the Force right now," she said. She hesitated, and then reached up to tuck her hair back. "There was a lot of…pain, there," she said huskily. "You know, I could feel, I could feel," her hand hovered at her abdomen.

She shook her head.

"Anyway," she whispered. "I'm not ready for that."

Han nodded. He gave a satisfied grunt, picking at more of her abandoned peels.

"You gonna talk to your old man?" he asked.

Leia sighed, folding her arms. She looked down at her bare feet, and then looked up anxiously, wary of Han's reaction –

"I don't…know," she whispered. "I want to…talk about Mama," she said, "but not…maybe I'm not ready for that yet, either," she said.

There was a lot of similar grief in her father's life and she wanted to…be more at ease with her own, before he became a part of it. Han nodded, shrugging as if he understood, and saying nothing to either shame her, convince her, or contradict her.

He ate the last few bits of fruit peel, and then came forward to kiss her, sliding his free hand up to her cheek affectionately and tilting her lips up to his, devoting carefully attention to the kiss – and somehow, even though it was the only intimacy they were engaging in right now, it was all she needed.

* * *

He took his time at the bazaar. He realized he did need to breathe, needed to be _out_ and about for a little bit, distracted by chaotic stimulus that wasn't aggressively painful or stressful. He had no resentment or blame for _Leia_ – more for their situation as a whole, and he had learned from the past that he was better at doing right by her if he had time to re-center himself.

He wasn't too worried about being spotted, or recognized; the average person on Corellia didn't give a damn about who was who in politics, and for him, there was more danger in someone he'd pissed off in the past recognizing him – but this was not Coronet City, so even in that respect, he had few worries. He spent time poking through things lazily, recharging a little, vaguely sorting through his own feelings – he hoped he hadn't hurt Leia's feelings with what he said, about – not being able to relate to the pain the same way –

He thought honesty was better, mostly because he wanted her to understand why he might fall short – but also because he felt guilty about it, and he – ah. He didn't know. She hadn't seemed upset, but he was regretting saying it.

He picked up a bunch of assorted things to cook for the next few days – they had not determined how long they would be here – and nearly gave himself a stroke trying to decide which flowers she'd like best.

He ventured over to the fruit vendors to find something to replace what she'd eaten – they had to be running low, Leia had really only wanted fruit or toast for the past few days – and he immediately ignored the skappi; she hadn't been much a fan of it before she was pregnant, but he doubted she'd ever want to see it again now.

He also wallowed around in the more exotic sections of the market, skeptical of those hocking miracle cures or strange amulets, stopping to peer closer at a cart full of baby animals – there was a tiny, colourful, feathered, thing pouncing around inside a box full of loth kittens, and he tilted his head curiously at it –

"It's a mooka," the vendor growled pleasantly.

Han glanced up – the thing's ears were far too big for its head, and it kept trying to play with the loth kittens, most of which nipped at it or screeched at it in response.

"Can't get rid of it," the vendor muttered.

Han kind of ignored the guy – he was good at ignoring those who were pawning stuff, but he was distracted by the creature – it looked something like a bird of paradise and a puppy, if Han was remembering what puppies looked like correctly – he hadn't seen one outside of a Holo since he was a kid –

He reached in to see what its fur felt like, and it leapt at his hand, clamping its mouth down on his fingers gently. It shook its head, and gave a weak sort of hissing squeal, and Han drew his hand back, glaring.

"Means it likes you," howled the vendor, laughing. "You wanna take 'im home?"

Han snorted, giving the vendor a skeptical look – like he needed to take home a biting little beast – he shook his head, adjusting the heavy bag on his arm, and glanced into the box again – the a loth kitten was hissing in the pup's ear – and he figured he'd better get back to Leia.

She'd had more than enough time to have some chats with Tavska, and Luke – he hoped those had gone well; that's what occupied his mind as he walked back, absently looking at the vaguely red, irritated teeth marks on his hands – he kept thinking of his mother, suddenly, of the look on her face one year – a few months before she'd died – when he'd brought home an injured Husk Lizard he'd found – some privileged Corellian family had left it out, when it was found defective, and he'd rescued – technically stolen – it, and Jaina Solo had clicked her tongue, eyeing it fearfully – _Han, you'll get yourself in trouble, baby, rich people want their things back when poor people take them._

Han told her he didn't think they deserved it, if they were gonna just kick it to the curb 'cause it was hurt – he'd said he was going to save it – and his mother had come to love it, even though it died a few weeks later – and a month after that, he'd lost her, too –

Han shifted the bag in his arms again – the walk up the cliffs to the chalet always seemed longer than the walk down, and for good reason; it was uphill. He made it, though, and transferred the bag to his other arm as he unlocked the door.

"Hey, 'm back," he shouted, lifting his head a little so the bags wouldn't block his voice.

He swore under his breath, suddenly finding it difficult to balance them; they were over spilling with produce, and the flowers were probably getting crushed – he strode quickly over to the island prep table in the kitchen, and as he sat the bags down, he peered over them, scanning the room.

He saw Leia curled up in a small ball in the corner of the sofa, her head tucked into her arm, and stomach dropped heavily, He slid the bags way from the edge of the counter, abandoning them, and walking over to her. He crouched down and balanced on the balls of his feet, reaching out to touch her hair gently.

Leia shifted her head and peeked out at him, her eyes red and wet. He ran his thumb lightly under her eye, rocking back and forth a little on his heels.

"Hey, Sweetheart," he said, giving her a muted smile.

She cleared her throat and placed her head on her arm, looking at him quietly. She flicked her eyes over to glance at the bags he'd brought home, and bit her lip, scraping at it wordlessly.

"I thought you were feelin' a little better," Han said, pushing her hair out of her face.

He rested his hand on her neck.

"I was," Leia said hoarsely. She shrugged honestly. "And then I wasn't."

She wasn't sure how to explain what had happened, but she was up – and then she was down. She closed her eyes and Han slid his hand to her shoulder, squeezing gently. He rested his chin on the couch, eye-level with her.

"I feel so sad," she murmured.

"I know," he murmured back. "S'okay, Leia."

She nodded, and Han looked at her a moment longer before straightening up, and nudging her shoulder a little. She sat up and let him sit down on the couch with her, and curled right back up, her head in his lap. She slid her arm under his knee, curving it around his leg. He leaned down to kiss her forehead, and then sat back.

"I got some fruit you like to make cobbler," Han offered gruffly. "There wasn't any starblossom," he mumbled – rarer these days, since Alderaan's demise. "Shuuras, though."

Leia squeezed her eyes shut, closing her mouth and very quietly dissolving into tears. Han looked at her sympathetically and kept stroking his hand through her hair, combing it back from her forehead.

She winkled her nose, and Han moved his wrist down to wipe it for her. He brushed his hand off his shirt and Leia blinked at him, tilting her head.

"Han," she said hoarsely. "That's gross."

He shrugged carelessly.

"Marriage is gross."

She gave a strangled laugh, and sat up. She looked at him intently for a moment, and then put one arm around him, and her head on his shoulder, resting all her weight on him. She engaged in a lot of – maneuvering around for a moment, and then ended up with her legs tucked over his lap, feet wedged in between his ribs and the arm of the sofa.

She faced him, holding one of his hands in her lap, leaning heavily against the back of the sofa, shifting her head a little once in a while to brush tears from her face. She ran her hands over his, pressing it close to her stomach, the noticing the marks –

"What happened?" she asked huskily.

"Ahh," Han sighed, shrugging. "Little creature bit me, some," he trailed off, frowning when he tried to think of the species. He glanced at his hand; the indents were turning a curious, bright blue, like he'd been marked. He gave it a curious look. "It was mixed in with a bunch of loth kittens, at the market."

Leia sniffed a couple of times, and ran her thumb soothingly over the marks. She clicked her tongue sympathetically.

"Didn't hurt," Han remarked. He snorted. "Kind of tickled," he muttered.

Leia looked up at him through her lashes, and a small smile touched her lips. He watched her touching his hand for a moment, and then looked up to meet her eyes.

"Somethin' upset you?" he asked gruffly.

She lifted her shoulders.

"I don't know what happened," she said honestly. "Other than the – general reason I'm upset, I was okay," she trailed off. Her voice caught, and she swallowed hard a couple of times before going on – "I think it comes and goes, in waves," she said hoarsely. "I had these two…weird moments," she trailed off.

"Weird how?"

Leia gave a hoarse, somewhat anguished sigh.

"Well, I was talking to Tavska, and she mentioned the Haven," Leia began. "I…have been, recently, conditioned to think of my life in a certain way," she closed her eyes lightly. "I said something about having the baby shortly after that," she trailed off again, and then went on: "and for some reason, after I hung up with her, I thought it was too quiet here. Then I thought I should enjoy the quiet, because soon we'll always have a baby crying. Then it…hit me again."

Han squeezed her hand, relaxing back and looking around the chalet – high, open ceilings, wood paneling; the intimacy of it.

Leia's lashes fluttered, and she looked at him as if she was wary of what he'd say.

"Isn't that silly?" she asked shakily. "It's like I…miss…hearing it cry," she murmured slowly, "but I never heard it cry."

Han nodded. He put his hands down on her thighs and then ran them down to her knees, brushing them back and forth gently, hoping the touch was soothing to her.

"I don't think it's silly," he said.

He didn't say anything for a little while, and then slowly, his hands stopped, and he looked down at her knees thoughtfully.

"We were thinkin' about it a lot, Leia," he said huskily. "We had plans," he added, shrugging – it seemed – normal, for her to have trouble adjusting to the disappearance of those plans; it seemed normal for her to need more than a handful of days to really realize –

She leaned forward a little more, her nose pressing hard into his shoulder. She took a deep breath, her eyes closing once more.

"I feel empty," she whispered against his shirt.

Han lifted his arm and rested it across her shoulders. She pulled her arms in, making herself small, letting him hug her. She pressed a kiss to his shoulder, her cheek resting there lightly.

"I started having all these maternal feelings I wasn't used to," she whispered. "I want something to take care of."

Han leaned over to rest his chin on her head. She sighed, her shoulders shuddering.

"I think it's why I keep asking you if you're okay," she confessed weakly, her voice a little reluctant, a little apologetic. "If you need me to take care of you…I'll feel a little better."

"You can always take care of me, Leia," Han murmured into her hair.

She smiled to herself, and reached up to wipe her nose on her hand. On the verge of brushing it on her shirt, she changed her mind, and tested his mature assertion that this, that marriage, was gross – she wiped it on his, instead, and Han laughed, the sound humming in his chest against her ear.

It brought an unexpected smile to her lips, and she bit down on her lower one, easing the pain of such a broad grin – there was such comfort in that simple comment – _marriage is gross._ Part of her, buried under everything else that was wrong, had the visceral fear that Han would be disillusioned romantically, made leery of her by the blood, gore, and technicality of a failed pregnancy, but there was none of that –

No squeamishness, no reservations.

Han pressed his cheek against her head gently, several times, and then pulled back a little, reaching up to stroke her hair. He tilted his head back and cleared his throat, hesitating.

"You want to talk?"

"About what?" she murmured.

He shrugged.

"Anything. Keep you sane," he said. "Keep you grounded."

She lifted her head, and waited, so he said –

"What'd Tavska have to say?"

She licked her lips, pursing them, answering slowly:

"Nothing out of the ordinary," she said. "It seems my absence isn't too interesting, yet," she frowned faintly. "I suppose that will depend on how long we stay."

She fell silent, and then went on:

"You know why I like Tavska?"

"Hmmm?"

"She's," Leia said appreciatively, "she's very talented at…carrying on as if nothing is wrong, without giving the impression she's unbothered," Leia licked her lips again, "if that makes sense."

Han nodded – and felt relieved; so talking with Tavska hadn't been a grueling experience – that was good; he figured Leia needed that brief foray into her work life to start bracing herself for what it would be like.

Though he'd try to convince her to stay here a little while longer, a week – even two, if he could get that lucky.

"She cares without making it a burden on me," Leia murmured, half to herself.

Han swallowed, running his hand down her back. It came to rest at the base of her spine, and he cleared his throat, turning his head to look at her intently. He hesitated a moment, and then cocked his head.

"You mind if I ask you somethin' personal?" he asked slowly, dwelling on something Bail had said – or something he'd said to Bail.

Leia looked a little amused.

"You've done some very personal things to me, Han," she quipped lightly. "I'm intrigued to know what prompted you to _ask_."

He looked a little sheepish, hesitated again, and then said –

"What's the worst thing that happened to you before the Death Star?" He asked. "Y'know…back on Alderaan."

Leia looked caught off guard – not angry, just, thoughtful – and then subdued, and then skeptical, as she reflected. She pursed her lips again, catching her tongue between her teeth – and she appeared to think for a long time, before giving a quiet, resigned sigh.

"I don't know…that I would ever refer to anything back then as…bad," she said softly. "Not compared to," she clicked her tongue gently. "I feel almost…spoiled, thinking of what I considered bad then," she murmured.

She lifted her shoulders, biting her lip.

"I failed an astrophysics exam," she said, grimacing at herself. "I…my thranta had to be shot, when I was eleven," she whispered. "S—Sabé died," she added. "Ahh," she snorted quietly. "When I was thirteen, a stable boy refused to kiss me," she said.

Han arched his brows a little.

"Thirteen, and runnin' around with stable boys?"

"Yes," Leia said in a hushed voice. "Trying to be a tomboy and a bad girl," she said, compressing her lips. "I wanted him to kiss me. The way high class girls always get taken in by someone unsuitable, in books, and he told me…that I was the princess, but it didn't make me pretty enough to kiss."

Han clearly hadn't been expected that, and he sat forward a little, in disbelief.

"He said _what_?" he asked – affronted both because – he was shocked someone had the audacity to say that to their sovereign – someone on Alderaan, at least – and he – couldn't imagine anyone looking at Leia, and thinking – _not pretty enough to kiss._

Leia laughed, the sound a little teary.

"I was quite heartbroken."

Her mother had, in some exasperation, tried to console her, but for some reason – a younger Leia had been so bothered by that.

"Maybe that's why I was so disinterested in relationships for most of men for my teenager years," she whispered.

"Well, damn," Han drawled, his voice dry. "Imagine how much faster I could have gotten you if I'd just called you pretty."

She made a muffled noise that sounded like it was trying to be a giggle, and closed her eyes, leaning forward to rest her cheek on his shoulder again. She nodded, without saying anything else for a while.

"Sabé's death," she murmured. "I feel…spoiled, and ridiculous, really trying to answer this question, but her death was awful. The Empire killed her, for dissident speech. Losing people, once the Rebellion started gaining traction…that was hard," she reflected.

She girt her teeth for a moment, and then rested her chin on his shoulder, looking quizzically at his profile.

"Why do you ask?"

Han gave a little shrug.

"Dunno," he said slowly. "'Cause I guess…I was wonderin' how you used to cope," he said. "'M just…talkin' to you," he said. "Talk's good."

Leia hesitated, thoughtful.

"I used to cry," she said simply. "When I was sad. I shouted at my protocol droid when I was angry. I," she reached up and touched her cheek, sighing. "I went to my mother."

"Hmm," Han mumbled. "Hmm," he said again, and then snorted. "Me too," he muttered – he hadn't much, as he'd gotten older, and tougher, but when he was little – he remembered showing her scraped, bloody elbows, a busted lip, and her taking time away from cooking, her face and clothes still sooty from the mines – _you rascal, Han, you little rascal – come here, boy –_

Leia rubbed her hand under her eye.

"You know," she began in a hush. "There was never, _never_ , anything in my life, as singularly horrifying as Alderaan's destruction," she said. Her lips compressed briefly as she swallowed hard. "Not even what they did to me on the Death Star."

She wrapped her arms around herself, pressing her legs down on him and leaning forward a little, her expression thoughtfully.

"I couldn't handle it. I still can't handle it, sometimes," she said quietly. "I…I wasn't equipped to cope with _that_. No one was. I think…part of me, _most_ of me, thought that the ways I had been sad in the past, as a child, as a teenage girl…they weren't _enough_. That no way I knew how to grieve was appropriate to process the magnitude – so even the few times I cried," she paused, and gestured at him, "with you," her voice trembled, "it didn't feel like grieving, it didn't feel like – _enough_."

She swallowed hard, looking at him intently.

"I thought it was impossible to mourn - big enough. So I just," her shoulders collapsed while she tried to find words. "You know," she said. "I froze. I've been…getting over that…emotional handicap…ever since."

Leia fell silent, and then reached up to push her hair back, first running her hand through it, and then tucking it behind her ears gently.

"I'm not saying this is a good thing," she said thickly, "because I am…miserable," she admitted honestly, "but I think…it's like…I understand how to grieve again. Really understand. There is no right way," she said, clenching her teeth. "You just…have to feel it."

She nodded a few times to herself, reaching for his hand again. Han had been looking at her, listening, for such a long time – and he still looked at her, long after she had stopped talking, squeezing her fingers, his head resting heavily on the back of the sofa.

Leia brought his hands to her lips and kissed his wrist, taking a shaking breath.

"Here's something I miss, something I used to do," she revealed. "My mother had an aviary," she explained. "She kept birds, took care of them. I don't know," Leia stopped abruptly, parting her lips silently as a realization glimmered in her eyes – "Well. I think I understand, now," she said. "She raised baby birds," Leia murmured. "I used to go to the aviary when I was upset, and play with them."

Leia was quiet again, and then she finally – she told Han – something she'd never told him before, something she'd kept so private, and dear to her heart –

"The last time I saw Mama was in her aviary," she confided. "She knew I was leaving for something more dangerous than usual. She gave me some of the feathers. She kissed me on the forehead and told me," Leia's lips trembled, "that little birds always remembered where their home ways," her eyes closed, and a few tears fell down her cheeks, "she tucked feathers in my hair and made me promise to come home to her and I _never saw her again_."

Han sat forward and ran his hand up Leia's back again, massaging gently at the back of her neck – she didn't give into full blown tears again, but wiped steadily at the flow that came, licking her lips – the tears were salty, fresh.

"I can't stop thinking about her, Han."

She wanted her mother so badly – she thought about Breha constantly, these past few days, trying to conjure up her face, wishing she could hear her voice, wondering what Breha would say to her – oh, she must have such words of comfort, and Leia would never hear them; she'd never know.

Han leaned over and kissed her brow, and she turned up her face to kiss his jaw, smiling at him a little.

"I don't talk about her very often," she whispered.

"You wanna talk about her some more now?" Han asked huskily.

Leia sighed, wiping her eyes.

"I don't think so," she said. "I'm drained, I'm…tired," she admitted. "But I think I want to talk about her more…in general."

Han nodded.

"Sure, Leia," he said. "We'll talk more about _Breha_."

He said her name, and Leia tilted her head, her tongue caught between her teeth lightly.

"You've been practicing."

Han's lips turned up wryly.

"Just in case," he confided.

Leia curled her toes, and collapsed against the couch, sighing.

"I'm tired," she repeated. "I'm tired of sleeping," she added, a little restless. "Tired of…crying."

Han thought for a moment, and then sat forward, hugging her legs to his abdomen. He cocked an eyebrow, an then looked over at the things on the counter, looking back to her quickly.

"You want to learn how to make cobbler?" he drawled.

Her brows twitched a little.

"Do I…?"

"C'mon," he said gruffly, jerking his head at the kitchen. He patted her legs, and she moved them back a little; he sat forward, and then stood up, holding out his hand gallantly. He nodded at her seriously. "C'mon, Leia, I'll show you."

"How to – make – ?"

"Cobbler," Han grunted.

It was a good way to take her mind off of it, to give them something to do, to give them some time together that was – fun, light, not quite so heavyhearted – though he was sure there was plenty more of that to come.

Leia placed her hand in his, and stood up, a chill running up her spine as her bare feet hit the floor. She stood there a moment, and Han gave her a muted smile, and released her hand, beckoning to her as he went into the kitchen. He pulled the netting bag of fruit out of the paper bags, and Leia hesitated for a moment as he threw them on the counter, and started pulling out knives, cutting boards – a dish.

He turned on the stove, and Leia came forward, standing at his side for a moment. Then she – she boosted herself up on the counter, small enough to sit sideways and watch him at the stove – he was – starting to melt sugar, and butter, in a pan…? – her feet up on the counter –

Han poked one of her toes.

" _That's_ gross," he said pointedly.

She leaned forward.

" _Marriage_ is gross," she retorted huskily, arching a brow.

"Yeah," Han drawled. "Well, your snot's part bein' married," he retorted, "feet on the counter, that's just rude."

Leia did not move her feet, and Han ran a hand over her ankle, pausing at the stove to turn around. He muttered to himself, searching through the bags – "Almost forgot," he mumbled, as he pulled a bouquet from them.

He turned and stepped up to Leia's side, showing them to her. He smoothed out some wrinkled petals.

"Sasaleas," he grunted.

Leia smiled. She took them in her arms, cradling them gently, and leaned over to give him a kiss on the cheek – which he turned into a kiss on the lips, and a tight hug, pulling her nearly off the counter, flush against his chest. She slipped an arm around his neck, hugging him back, and tucked her head against his shoulder, content to be held, thinking – it didn't make sense, that Han was going to show her how to cook something, and that would make her feel better – it didn't make sense at all, but it _would_ help.

There was just – just no correct way to grieve; and so – she went easy on herself, and she was…uninhibited in her sadness.

* * *

The last thing Han Solo had ever expected, when he stuck his hand into a box of loth kittens at the market and was nibbled on by the odd one out the – the _mooka –_ was to end up so fixated on the colourful, feathery little animal that he kept glancing down at his hand to make sure the faint marks were still there, kept running his hand over the indents.

He couldn't seem to stop thinking about it, and he wasn't sure if he was just – attempting to occupy his mind with something mundane, or if his initial interest in the thing – it had clearly been an outcast among the loth kittens – had been compounded by Leia's quiet reflection that she wanted – _needed_ – something to take care of.

He initially had the fleeting idea that he should buy it when the vendor said it liked him, but he'd shaken off that notion; it was impulsive, and likely the last thing he should do – and he was uncertain why his – admittedly recurrent habit – of attempting to save forsaken things had been reignited.

Though the reasons for why he was dwelling on the little creature were unbeknownst to him – or, arguably, he hadn't bothered to delve too deep into them – the fact remained that he kept thinking about it, so when he abruptly returned to the market roughly a week after they had arrived and bought the damn thing, it couldn't necessarily be called impulsive, specifically because he had thought about it for days.

That, at least, was what he told himself, as he made his way up the winding path to the chalet, trying to decide what he was going to say to Leia when he showed her – when he, ahh, tried to explain –

It was about the size of Chewbacca's paws, and half-fit into one of the pockets of Han's vest, though it kept wriggling out and hanging over his arm instead, wagging its feathery tale and making excited, sniffling noises as it looked around. Han frowned, figuring he should have got a basket or something – and it put its paws up on his shoulder and curved its small talons into his vest, darting its tongue out to lick his ear.

Affronted, Han stopped in his track and glared – what the _hell_ had – gotten in to him? Not the animal – _him_ , Han Solo, what the hell had gotten into _him,_ why had he taken it upon himself to sneak back to the bazaar and rescue the little gal – guy, _guy_ , the vendor said it was male – and take it back up to the chalet like some, some –

Offering, soothing gift; something for Leia.

It made a shushing noise in his ear, and Han arched his eyebrows, cocking his head - the mooka's eyes blinked happily, its tail brushing his wrist over and over again. It was – admittedly, kind of adorable, in an exotic, unexpected way; bird-like, and canine-like, at the same time – bird-like.

Well, if Leia's mother had taken care of hatchlings to occupy her mind, maybe Leia would – but Han was wary of bringing something home and implying it was some shallow replacement for what they'd lost –

Except he – also thought, standing there and waiting for the creature to calm down so he could walk more easily – _he_ wanted this. He was…still having a hard time figuring out why – probably had something to do with how it had been homeless, and homeless without other animals that liked it – it had been abandoned, and it liked him, and he just felt like there was something right about it.

He didn't think Leia would be angry with him. He thought she might be – bewildered, and he grimaced a little, when he again tried to think of how he'd articulate why he wanted it – why he'd decided to buy it –

' _Cause it's little, and colourful,_ he thought to himself, grudgingly, _and it bit me, but that meant it liked me, and that reminds me of you, Sweetheart_ – he grinned a little, starting to walk again – that'd probably amuse Leia.

He had thought about asking Bail if he thought this was a good idea, but he'd refrained – as much as he appreciated Bail, and intended to continue seeking his advice in some respects, he didn't want all of what he did for Leia to be an extension of what her father suggested – he wanted some of it to be organic. Not that advice taken from the Viceroy wasn't genuine but – somewhere, Han had to find the confidence in himself to believe he was capable of comforting Leia on his own, just as he had been in plenty of situations in the past.

The mooka gave a short, high-pitched chirp of excitement, and Han stopped outside the door of the chalet, alarmed.

"You're gonna give me away," he muttered, resting his palm on its head, between its ears – damn ears were huge, almost comically too big; the vendor said he'd grow into them – he gave it a stern look, and it's ears twitched, its head cocking almost as if it understood.

Its tongue darted out, and it licked Han's jaw again – he scowled at it.

"Don't make me regret this," he muttered, half to it, half to himself – he didn't think he would, and he might have succeeded in banishing the little guy from his mind if Leia hadn't been having a harder time the last day or too – it really was a unpredictable storm, striking her in waves.

He wanted to see her smile again, and he hoped –

He stepped up and swiped his palm on the access lock, slipping inside quietly. He made a shushing noise to the animal, and it _shhhhhed_ back at him in its strange language; Han gave it a twice as alarmed look, and shushed it again. It was silent.

\- he hoped he was doing the right thing.

It felt right. It felt _right_ , somehow. He just wasn't going to be – completely convinced, until he had Leia's reaction, and even if she wasn't moved by it he – he kind of hoped she didn't mind if he kept it, because he was –

Grudgingly, he figured he was attached. He'd _been_ attached since it bit him a few days ago, he just tried to ignore it because it seemed so… _absurd_ , to be a guy his age, seeing a baby animal and deciding he wanted to take it home.

Things – weren't normal, though, not right now.

Hell, maybe he wanted somethin' to take care of. Maybe it was like…how he'd been aggressively re-conditioning the _Falcon_ for weeks, even before Leia got pregnant, for lack of anything better to do, because he wanted to be ready.

Well, he still hadn't felt ready, and then it hadn't mattered because she – they – had a miscarriage, and that made everything seem bleak and hopeless, but he still…wanted to be ready.

He stopped in the entrance, struggling to keep the animal from leaping out of his arms and scampering wildly across the floor. He looked up hesitantly – where had Leia been when he left, asleep – curled up in a patio chair on the lower level, out in the sun?

"Leia?" he called, and then immediately winced – dammit, what if she was asleep? He sure as _hell_ shouldn't be waking her up –

"Loft."

Her answer was soft and a little muffled, but she didn't sound as if she'd just been woken up. Han strode forward to the ladder-style stairs up to the loft and frowned, staring up them. He looked at the mooka, and then back up the ladder, thinking – then he tucked the mooka under one arm loosely, deciding he was limber enough to climb up with only one hand as support.

"Calm _down_ ," he muttered at it, as it writhed and squirmed in his arm, tapping its nose against his chest repeatedly. "Hey, behave and she might like you," he warned, peering over the edge of the loft at the wire frame feet of their bed.

He took a step up, his head and shoulders appearing, and Leia rolled over across the bed, stretched out gingerly on her stomach. The sheets and quilts were a mess – hadn't been made in days. He could see Leia looking over at him, waiting for his appearance, and she hung her arm off the bed, waving her fingers at him.

"Han," Leia murmured. "I…might be ready for some wine."

Han grunted a little, hesitating on coming all the way up. The mooka made one of its soft, curious chirping noises, and Leia lifted her head. She gave him a quizzical look, her lips pursed, and Han shook his head hastily to indicate it wasn't him.

"Uhh," he started. "I…got somethin' at the market," he said slowly. "Don't freak out," he said dryly. "I hope you're not gonna…freak out," he muttered, dragging his feet up the last few steps, and then transferring toe mooka so he was holding it with both hands.

Leia, who was already sitting up cautiously, the expression on her face one of calm wariness at his words, paused, her legs curled towards her, one arm supporting her as she leaned up. Her hair cascaded over one shoulders, and she stopped moving when she flicked her eyes over him and caught sight of what he was holding.

Han winced a little, bracing himself – suddenly, what had seemed like a sweet, almost whimsical gesture – wasn't so –

Leia sat up fully, tucking one of her hands into her lap. She stared at him, her lips parted, her lashes quivering a little as her eyes widened. Han took a few steps forward.

"Remember I told you that…uh, a baby animal bit me the other day," he explained quickly, feeling distinctly like his face was turning red. He took a few more steps forward, letting her see it a little better. "Well," he muttered, "I got…kind of…I kept thinkin' about 'im, and – "

Leia swallowed hard, shifting forward a little. Her hair tumbled over her shoulder and she tilted her head, reaching out carefully. With that, Han stepped up to the bed – and at the sight of a new human, the mooka was shivering with excitement, flicking its tail and chirping in a song-like flurry, straining to get to Leia's hand.

"Be nice. Don't bite her," Han said to it, without thinking, and Leia looked up as soon as he spoke sternly to the animal, a funny, soft expression on her face – and Han cleared his throat gruffly.

Leia placed her hand on its head, her thumb brushing its ears, and she bit her lip, eyes running over it – the vibrant, multi-coloured feathers, soft and velvety, the beak-like snout, the small talons – she sat up a little straighter, looking up at Han.

He nodded at her, understanding she wanted to hold it – he wasn't sure why she wasn't saying anything, but he gingerly transferred the mooka to her anyway, wincing again when it leapt up at her and licked her face. Leia closed her eyes, rearing back in surprise, and Han reached up to rub his jaw, holding his breath – was she – pissed at him…?

Leia caught the animal in her arms and drew it close, surprising him when she buried her face in its ears and made a strangled noise that – well, unaware of what she was thinking, Han thought it was a sob, until she lifted her face, and he saw her eyes were bright, and sparkling with disbelief, her cheeks flushed pink.

"Han," she squealed, catching her breath as it licked her cheek again, and then wrestling some of its energy down so she could get a better grip, cuddling it against her chest. "What is it?" she asked, not waiting for an answer. She bit her lip and scratched its ears, tilting her head to look at its face with wonder.

"It's so cute," she gasped, her lips trembling. She ran her hand lightly over its head and back, stroking its downy feathers and offering her cheek to let it nuzzle its snout against her. "Oh, Han, it's so cute!"

Taken aback for a moment, Han stood there, slowly lowering his arm to let both of his hands hang at his sides – and as Leia pursed her lips and buried her face in the mooka's bright coat, he started to grin, amused – he'd never seen Leia so effusive, so – traditionally girly – over anything, not really even on their wedding day. She made a little squealing noise again – practically in tears; in near hysterics, and he couldn't stop smiling at her reaction – _not bad, Solo,_ he thought, and then – _god, I love that smile._

"Look," she called, her voice catching – " _Look_ – !" she bit back a smile, insisting Han admire the animal in her arms – as if he hadn't been the one to smuggle it home.

Han nodded, unable to hold back a gruff, proud laugh – seeing her like this, it was a beautiful thing, and for the first time in the better part of a week now, he got a tight feeling in his chest that wasn't bleak and painful; it was _good_. It was good, because while he and Leia had some lighter moments while they were here – this was purer, and a feeling of relieved optimism flooded him.

He folded his arms, watching her with rapt attention as she caught it's little face in her hand gently, and studied it closer.

"It's a mooka," he said gruffly, reaching up to run his hand through his hair. He scratched the back of his neck, recounting the minimal things he'd learned: "They can't fly or anything, they just are kinda like birds, but like loth cats too, I figure," he explained.

He folded his arms, and scuffed his foot, clearing his throat.

"He was the only one," he grunted. "All 'lone, y'know," he said, glancing down at the mark on his hand. "Thought you'd like 'im," he went on slowly.

He reached out to pet the mooka, and it turned, nipping at his fingers happily, making its _ksshhing_ , chirping noise.

"He won't get very big, but they're real loyal, and the feathers stay soft but turn white when they shed," he trailed off a moment, giving the mooka a mild glare when it kept nipping playfully at his fingers. "Think I, uh…got a little soft spot for 'im, 'cause he bit me," Han said slowly.

Leia clicked her tongue softly.

"He marked you," she murmured softly, shifting the mooka towards her and leaning forward to kiss its soft snout. "He wanted you to take him," she closed her eyes and kissed the mooka's cheek, holding him closer – and Han noticed it was calming down in her arms, spell-bound by all the affection.

"Yeah, well, the vendor said it bitin' me meant it liked me," Han drawled, "so it reminds me of you."

Leia jutted her foot out and kicked him gently in the shin, shaking her head.

"He's _mean_ ," she whispered to the mooka, glancing up at Han through her lashes. "He's a grumpy old man. Hmm?" she kissed its ear again, and reached up to rub her knuckles lightly under its chin – it dipped its head, and started nipping at her.

"Hey," Han said sternly. "I said don't bite _her_."

"Oh, let him, Han, it tickles," Leia murmured, her cheeks flushing again. "Look at him; he's so sweet – he's so _little_ ," she fawned.

Han arched his eyebrows in delighted surprise – it was going over - better than expected, even; he had hoped she'd be amused by it, but he had no idea Leia would gush over it like this.

"You're sure it's a he?" Leia murmured, watching it blithely nibble on her fingers.

"That's what the guy said," Han said, shrugging.

Leia lifted it up, peering between its back legs, and Han swept in and lifted it away, giving her an affronted look.

"You – c'mon, you gotta feed' im first, or somethin'," he said, outraged, and Leia laughed huskily, biting her lip. She scooted back a little and patted her hand on the bed expectantly.

The mooka chirped eagerly, straining to get back to Leia, and after looking at the bed pointedly to make sure Leia was sure she wanted it on the sheets, Han set it down – and watched it promptly lose its mind, chirping and twisting in circles – chasing its tail, then pouncing on pillows.

He thought for a moment Leia was going to die over it, she was so fixated, her hand over her heart. He folded his arms, watching for a minute, and then nudged her over, stripping his boots off before sitting down next to her, and swinging his legs up.

Immediately, the mooka pounced on his ankles, and attacked his feet, delighted with the new toys; Leia sat up straight, but pressed her shoulder into his, her legs curled up, knees brushing his thighs – and her eyes followed it fondly. Han turned his head to watch her, the remains of his apprehension fading a little with every second that look was on her face.

It abandoned Han's ankles, and scampered up Han's legs, pouncing on him, front paws on his chest, and Leia clasped her hands at her shoulder, biting her lip as she watched it. Han tried to give it a frown as it chirped at him, but was damn near brow beat into a smirk when it nipped at his ear – almost smugly – and then lost its balance and tumbled backwards into Leia's lap –

Damn thing was – twice as – _twice_ as adorable around Leia than it had been at the market.

It writhed on its back in Leia's lap for a moment, unsure how to right itself, and Leia rescued it, sweeping it up into her arms and cradling it gingerly, like it was a –

Han cut off his train of thought, but tilted his head back, watching her sway it a little, her hand running over its stomach in an affectionate rub. It chirped and snapped at her hair harmlessly as the curling edges tickled its face, and Leia laughed huskily.

"You little darling," she murmured at it, her voice accented with a fawning purr, and Han – couldn't resist laughing, drawing one knee up to rest his wrist on it.

"What's so funny?" Leia asked, without looking up – as if she knew damn well what he was laughing at. She arched her brows. "He's making fun of me," she whispered to the animal snuggled in her arms. "He's _teasing_ me," she told it.

"Never seen you like this, Sweetheart," Han admitted, laughing again.

Leia clicked her tongue, and then looked up and over at him, her face softer, but still bright with the unexpected happiness he'd given her, the rush of affection she'd felt the moment she saw he was sheepishly holding some – furry, feathery, baby animal.

She smiled.

"I love him," she said sincerely, turning again to lavish attention and snuggles on the mooka. "He's so happy – look, Han, he's so happy, and cute," she said again, trailing off huskily.

She leaned heavily into Han's shoulder, and he noticed her hand stilled in petting him, trailing back up to scratch between his ears. The mooka wagged its tail, and chirped gently, and Leia lifted her head a little, bringing her hand up to brush at one of her eyes.

His smile fading sympathetically, Han slid his arm behind her shoulders and pulled her close, reaching up to cup her cheek in his hand, and tilt her face towards him. He stroked his thumb over her jaw, searching her face, and Leia bit her lip, her eyes still sparkling somewhere – between a smile, and the lingering sadness.

"Hey," Han said softly, his voice deepening. "Hey, Sweetheart. I'm not tryin' to replace anythin', okay?" he asked, earnest, and soothing. "Don't want you to think," he trailed off. "'M not thinkin' that I can just…fix this for you," he tried to assure her, stumbling over the speech uncertainly.

He lowered his hand and nudged the mooka's ear, and it turned to nip at his hands, giving a soft, chirping growl – an indefinable noise that was strange, and amusing; Leia laughed a little, glancing at it, and then looking back at Han.

"I know," she started, but Han was already talking again, and he accidentally spoke over her –

"'M not tryin' to make you get over this, or make it seem like…y'know, a pet's the same as – 'cause I know it's not," he said huskily. "I _know_ it's not, Leia."

"Han," she broke in softly, blinking – a few tears slipped out, but she wiped them away swiftly – as she loosened her grip on the mooka, it finally figured out how to scamper to its feet, and pranced down their legs towards the pillows, eyeing them suspiciously. "I know," she said again.

She knew – exactly where his heart must have been, when he was thinking of this, when he decided to do this –

"You said you needed to take care of somethin'," he said gruffly, his voice hesitant, and almost raw, like he was hoping he'd really done something right, done the best he could, "and it didn't have anyone to take care of it."

Leia nodded – _there_ , that's where his heart was; in the right place – in a good place, like always; a place that listened to her, and didn't think she was silly, or unreasonable, or losing her mind.

She looked over at the mooka, watched it hop around their bed, sniffing at the sheets, chirping as it discovered its new surroundings – and she lowered her head, looking down at her lap.

" _He_ ," she corrected, looking up. " _It's_ a he."

She smiled shakily at Han - she thought the baby might have been a boy; but that didn't matter to her much, not now – and it hadn't then, either; she had just wanted it to be healthy, and that itself had been taken from her.

She compressed her lips, reaching over to run her palm over his thigh, her eyes lingering on the mooka, watching it play at Han's feet – it looked up at her, paused, and then darted forward, spinning in a circle on her lap, and then collapsing in a content, warm ball, snuggling up against her ribs.

Leia stroked her hand over its ears, soothing it, and it chirped at her softly, content.

She looked up at Han.

"He means something to you, doesn't he?" she asked, pursing her lips. "You…why did you want him, Han?" she asked.

She understood why he'd given the mooka to her, but she sensed Han himself would have wanted the pet even if he had to convince her, even if she was reluctant – she liked baby animals enough, but she was a little taken aback – though delighted - by her own effusive reaction.

Han shrugged.

"Dunno," he said, honest and gruff. "Used to take home strays when I was a kid," he said. He arched his brows. "Then _I_ was a stray," he snorted. "Kind of looked like no one was gonna give it a chance."

Leia was quiet for a while, and then she took a deep breath.

"On Naboo, I asked Luke if he could believe _you_ wanted a baby," she said quietly. "I was…still reeling, a little, over it being – _me_ , who needed convincing, the _woman_ ," she paused, shook her head, "which is…sexist of me, I suppose – rather misogynistic towards myself."

"Hmm," Han grunted, deadpan. "Can't _believe_ you were that old fashioned."

She laughed a little, and then swallowed hard.

"Know what Luke said?"

"Somethin' that's gonna be engraved on a damn statue somewhere, probably," Han joked.

Leia tilted her head, looking down to watch as she gently stroked the mooka's ears.

"He said it didn't surprise him at all," she murmured, "because you like taking care of things."

She kept her eyes on the mooka, waiting for Han to say something. He was quiet for a long time, and then he took a deep breath.

"Guess I do," he said slowly.

He fell silent again. After a long time of reflection, in which he reached down to pet the mooka, he frowned, grimacing as he tried to get the words out –

"Leia…I miss my ma a lot, too," he admitted. "Sometimes, I think I miss 'er more, 'cause I'm pissed she never got to meet you."

Leia reached over and took his hand, her palm sliding against his smoothly.

"Dunno why we're talkin' about mothers so much," he said gruffly.

Leia's lips parted dryly, and she hesitated.

"Because I was going to be a mother," she said finally. "And now I'm not."

Han turned his head, and kissed her forehead protectively, leaning into her.

"You will be," he whispered. "C'mon, Sweetheart. Don't give up."

She squeezed his hand.

"Do you remember at Varykino, when you told me you wanted a baby because you loved me, and I said that wasn't good enough?"

Han nodded, kissing her forehead again.

"Yeah, I remember," he said. "'Cause it was pretty sappy, so I like to pretend I don't," he muttered.

She laughed hoarsely.

"I changed my mind," Leia whispered. "I feel different. I think that's good enough." She hesitated, and then her voice cracked as she went on, "because this is all about how much I love you, and I don't care if I somehow had a baby that was ninety-nine percent Vader, if it was one percent _you_."

Han smiled a little, and reached over to touch her cheek again, muttering incoherently in her ear, and she closed her eyes, resting her head against her shoulder. Her hands drifted over the mooka in her lap affectionately – oh, it meant so much to her; it was so cute, and sweet, and the gesture – the very fact that Han was doing everything he could to try and alleviate some of the pain, to connect with her – god, she couldn't have found a better man if she'd tried, and somehow, he'd just crashed into her all those years ago, collided with her in some – wild twist of fate.

Leia picked up the sleepy animal in her lap, and cradled it against her chest, kissing it between it's ears – the pet was so out of the norm, but somehow, it fit, and she loved it already – cherished it, already, and everything it represented; Han's perseverance, and her consuming grief, grief she _felt_ , without letting it destroy her.

She took a deep breath, her face buried in the mooka's feathers for a moment. She lifted her head.

"I thought about it," she said softly, "and you're right, we should stay another week," she agreed. "I think I'm okay. I think I'm _going_ to be okay. But…I still feel like bursting into tears at any given moment and…I need to be able to," she said quietly, "so we'll leave Evaan in charge, for a little longer."

Han kissed her temple, relieved that she'd agreed. He reached over to scratch the mooka's ears himself, and after a long moment of silence, cleared his throat, voicing a concern he'd had – that he'd had since he decided to bring her here; since Bail had suggested it.

"Leia," he ventured hesitantly, his voice a little hoarse. "Is this…has this, um, poisoned this place, for you?" he asked. "Y'know, we came for our honeymoon, and now," he trailed off – their honeymoon had been so, so – so wholesome, and everything they needed, and he had this lingering fear that he'd brought heartache to their sanctuary.

Leia tilted her head, her nose pressing into his collarbone. She stared at his throat for a while – staring at nothing in particular really, thinking—about how much she loved it here, and how much the solitude, and simplicity, of this place meant to her.

She shook her head

"No," she murmured. "This place is sacred."

Han shifted closer, and turned his head, bending down to capture her lips in a kiss – and he felt no worry, or apprehension, when he tasted tears on Leia's lips, and felt them on her face, because this was part of the process – it was normal, and it was slow, but it was real, and he was sure – _he was sure_ – that they could make it through this, just as they had made it through everything else.

* * *

 _(did you like it?)_

 _-alexandra_


	6. Five

a/n: Zozy!

much like i have inspirations for Aunt Rouge (Pitty-Pat Hamilton and Violet Crawley!), I have one/always have had one in mind for Breha, and that's Catherine of Aragon - who I think of, obviously, for the fertility issues, but for so many other reasons as well.

* * *

 _Five_

 _7 ABY_

* * *

In obvious lack of adherence to what was conventionally thought to be sanitary – and civil – the latest addition to the Solo family was perched on his haunches on the kaffe table in the center of their Coruscant apartment, his tail gently sweeping happily behind him, tongue lolling out of his mouth in anticipation – and with bright, delighted green eyes, he gazed at Han with a somewhat endearing vigor.

Han glared right back at him, currently in the throes of one of his moments of intense _regret_ – the more it – no, he – no – Han nearly closed his eyes in exasperation as he mentally called him by his name – _Zozy_ – the more Zozy looked back at him in oblivious, adoring anticipation, the more Han questioned what the hell had gotten into him when he decided to –

Zozy lunged forward and licked Han's cheek, giving a happy chirp to go along with the gesture, before settling back on his haunches expectantly, as if waiting for Han to return the gesture.

Han raised his hand and pointed square at the mooka's face, narrowing his eyes sternly.

"I said," he growled, "don't lick me again."

He was pretty damn sure Zozy was, at that moment, gearing up to completely ignore him and disobey for a third – no, _fourth_ – time, so this time, when the little guy lurched forward, Han grabbed him up gently and turned him around, giving him no access to his face.

He smirked, and Zozy gave a disappointed chirp, dissolving into little _ksshhing_ sounds that were obviously meant to emotionally manipulate Han – and it _worked_ , because if Leia heard it making those noises, she was likely to whack Han with a pillow like she had the last time he'd inadvertently made Zozy cry.

Han turned him into the crook of his arm to peer at his face, giving him a stern look.

"You gotta learn to listen," he told Zozy seriously, and then narrowed his eyes. "Stop bitchin'," he muttered, rubbing it between the ears affectionately. " _Zozy_ ," he added, scowling – it figured that Leia had somehow come up with the frilliest sounding name in the damn _galaxy_ –

She said it was a derivation of a word in her native language, but she had also refused to tell him what it meant, as a punishment for him laughing at her. A quick message to Bail had enlightened him; evidently, Zozy was colloquial adjective for a little boy who was somewhat of a rascal.

 _Zozy?_ Bail had responded. _Rascal, or scoundrel, roughly – has Leia taken to calling you that?_ \- he mocked.

 _No, I got her a pet. She named the pet Zozy._

 _A pet?_

Han had sent him a snapshot via the holonet, and Bail retorted that Han must be screwing with him, and maintained that belief until Leia was photographed holding the living, breathing mooka on her way into work several days ago.

She had taken Zozy with her on her first day back at the office, an action that had fascinated – and distracted – the news cycle. Han was unsure if she took Zozy specifically to dangle at the Media to redirect their speculation, or if she'd needed the little guy with her for support, and the effect on the Media was secondary.

Likely a little of both – he'd learned to never underestimate Leia's games with the press.

Zozy squirmed in Han's grip, trying to escape and dart around the apartment – he had been beside himself at the chalet, beside himself on the _Falcon,_ and beside himself upon being introduced to his new home, and Han was vaguely alarmed at his energy levels.

Despite having his own bed that Leia had settled into the corner of their bedroom, he had huddled in it and made his _kssshing_ , scared crying noise the first night in the new place – on Corellia, he had explored and scampered most nights, and fallen asleep wherever he found patches of moonlight or sunlight – and successfully ended up snuggled in their bed because Leia couldn't stomach the sad noise.

 _He won't be in the way, he's little,_ she murmured, trying to placate Han – who was inclined to agree, until he woke up to Zozy licking his ear, the mooka having wedged himself between Han and Leia in the night.

Han narrowed his eyes and glared at the little guy, frowning sternly.

Zozy chirped.

"Don't make me take you back," Han threatened edgily – good-natured though; he never would – Zozy could probably destroy all the internal wiring on the _Falcon_ , and Han would still keep him, because Leia loved him so much.

He released Zozy, and the mooka scampered off, darting off the sofa, pouncing on Han's feet, and then trotting off to find Leia – and Han leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his forehead in his palms. He sighed stiffly, listening for Leia in their bedroom – the 'fresher had shut off half an hour ago, and she hadn't reappeared.

His brow furrowed and he rubbed his temples, his jaw tightening – returning to their routines wasn't exactly smooth. Rather – it had been somewhat smooth, with an indescribable cerebral affect – they both had a tremendous amount of grieving and thus the foundations of healing, under their belts – but being back home was – jarring, he thought, more so for Leia.

 _What happened to the sheets?_ – she'd asked, having not had the peace of mind to ask before they left – her face white, and apprehensive, as she waited for Han to answer her.

Han told her Luke had taken care of them, and Leia still seemed unnerved – which was why Han had hardly protested when she wanted to let Zozy sleep in the bed.

It seemed like that question had triggered a dampening of spirits for her, overall, for both of them – so, too, had her return to work, even though she was doing limited labor, half-days – and Han was still on liberal leave himself –

It was just – difficult, readjusting, and that had become – abundantly clear earlier this evening, when nothing, not even something that should be normal, and simple, and comforting – was easy.

Han lifted his head a little, gritting his teeth – it had been a long, _long_ time since – he couldn't remember the last time intimacy between them had ended in tears. He still wasn't sure if he'd hurt her, or if she just wasn't ready, or both – and she hadn't articulated herself very well, she also hadn't stopped him and he was left wondering if he was despicable, or if she didn't understand herself what was going on – he was waiting for her to emerge, to want to talk.

They'd been back a few days now and – and it was probably – time they had another long, intensive talk; there had been a lot of that on Corellia, but very little since then, and perhaps both of them had fallen into a trap of thinking return to Coruscant equaled immediate resumption of the norm – and that just – that just wasn't… _right_.

"Zo- _zy_ ," he heard Leia sing, her voice muffled by the rooms, and hallway, separating them. "Where's Han, Zo?"

A few moments later, Zozy came rocketing back into the living room and took a flying leap into Han's lap, proudly chirping over his shoulder, his feather tail mounting an all-out assault on Han's face.

Scowling, Han plucked Zozy off his lap and placed him back on the kaffe table, giving him another stern look – and to think, he'd let sentiment get the better of him, and decided it was a brilliant idea to bring the little pest home and make it _family_ –

"Oh, you _found_ him," Leia murmured, coming in to the room slowly, smiling softly at Zozy. "Good boy," she praised quietly, running a towel over her hair – clad in a only a short, cotton robe, she came to stand near Han's knee, looking down at Zozy, falling silent as she methodically dried her hair.

Han sat back and looked up at her, anxiety gripping at his chest. He set his jaw and looked up at her, trying to think of something to say, and Leia took a deep breath, clearing her throat softly and tilting her head at Zozy as she spoke.

"Sorry about that," she said softly. "In there."

She looked up at him, and tilted her head towards their bedroom, her face flushing.

"I didn't mean to freak you out," she murmured.

Han ignored the apology.

"Can you talk about it?" he asked gruffly. "Did I hurt you?"

That was his main concern, more than anything – he would never forgive himself if he –

She shook her head, and sat down heavily next to him, lowering her hands to her lap, leaving the towel draped over her shoulder. She smoothed the edges of her robe out.

"No," she said softly, and then winced, looking up at him honestly. "You didn't hurt me, not _you_ ," she tried to explain, gesturing at her thighs. "It hurt," she tried, and then frowned, giving him a reluctant look. "I don't think there's any nice way to put it, Han," she said finally. "I'm…a little…raw," she said quietly. "That procedure was invasive. I'm sore."

"You don't gotta be nice," Han said gruffly.

He turned his head a little, watching Zozy scamper around the table, happily attempting to herd the inanimate object.

"We didn't wait long enough," he said tiredly – and he was furious with himself; he hadn't – he knew he hadn't been restrained enough, it hadn't automatically clicked that – their sex live would _not_ immediately return to its former state.

Leia shrugged a little.

"She said two weeks," she murmured – it had been that, just about, and Leia didn't think it was Han's fault – she was less worried about the pain; it hadn't been terrible, just uncomfortable, and not what she was used to – but more startling was – she just –

"I was – it was _not_ that, mostly," Leia said shakily, looking down at her hands. "I, um – I thought – I remembered, we're safe right now, because I had that shot at the Med Center," given to her as a precaution, because Dr. Mellis discouraged an attempt to immediately get pregnant after a miscarriage, "but – I shouldn't _need_ it, because I should," she broke off, biting her lip, and looking up at him.

She sighed.

"I _should_ still be pregnant."

Han tilted his head, listening – he nodded slowly, processing her words, giving himself time to understand.

She reached up and wiped one of her eyes.

"And I'm not."

Han leaned closer, his arms folded at his chest. He pressed his lips to her shoulder, letting his forehead rest against her, and nudged her knee with his comfortingly. She shifted, relaxing a little, hunkering down on the sofa. She reached out and brushed his jaw with her knuckles.

"I didn't think…it might be hard…to, ah, to…have sex," she said. "Emotionally hard."

Han nodded.

"Didn't really think about that either," he conceded – he hadn't felt anything that she felt, _clearly_ , but he was able to step into her shoes at least a little and see why she was having trouble – hell, he himself had pointed out there was something different, back when they'd first eliminated her hormones altogether.

Leia licked her lips, her lips turning down unhappily.

"I _hate_ this," she lashed out huskily, her brow furrowing, voice breaking, "I love having sex with you," she protested.

Han blinked, and he was – struck with a ridiculous urge to laugh, because it didn't seem like a very _Leia_ thing to say – not in so many words, at least, and it seemed a peculiar thing to be angry about –

He did laugh, and then nearly choked on it, he was so horrified at himself –

"Kriff," he swore. "'M not laughing, at you – fuck, Leia, I don't know why I laughed," he started, his shoulders tensing.

But Leia pressed her nose against his shirt tightly, and then lifted her head; her eyes red—crinkled at the edges with a helpless, bewildered smile.

"It's okay," she promised, catching her lip in her teeth, then releasing it, then shrugging – she placed her elbow on the back of the sofa, and cradled her head in her palm. "It's a stupid thing to care about," she said, wiping her nose on her wrist. "Sex," she muttered.

Han shrugged.

"S'not stupid," he said. "That's how we," he broke off, and looked down at his hands, digging his thumb into his palm with a mild grimace. "Y'know, connect," he said gruffly. "Uhh. Feel – "

"Good?" Leia supplied bluntly.

"I was gonna say safe," Han muttered under his breath. "Good works, too."

She compressed her lips.

"Yeah," she whispered, "and I – we – can't even have that right now? When I need it?" she asked, her face darkening - she sat forward, her eyes narrowing. "How is that fair? That's taken away from me too? I can't fuck you?"

Han blinked, taken aback.

"Leia," he murmured.

"It wasn't all about having a baby _before_ ," she raged huskily, "why is that all I was thinking about now – oh, he'll – get me pregnant again, and I'll lose it – _again_ – and it hurts, and," she broke off, reaching up to wipe her cheeks again, her hand shaking, "I don't understand," she hissed. "I don't," she trailed off, her eyes searching his.

Han looked at her helplessly.

"I don't know, Sweetheart," he said hoarsely.

" _You_ didn't feel that way," she pressed. "Did you?"

Han looked down at his hands, and she reached out to tap his wrist very gently, lowering her voice.

"I'm not angry with you, Han," she whispered, her shoulders falling. "I want to know how you're coping."

He didn't say anything for a while, and then he looked up, still with that somewhat helpless expression on his face.

"It didn't live in me, Leia," he said finally, almost on edge. "I can't – I don't know, 'm just – I just want you to be okay."

Her lips trembled, and she leaned into him, tucking her head into his shoulder. She squeezed her eyes shut, some of the anger in her dissipating – of course, he couldn't relate the same way – of course. And even so, he was still so understanding, and so supportive – she sighed.

She rubbed her hand against his shoulder, swallowing hard.

"I think I'm…struggling," she said quietly. "Facing people who…know what happened," she said, "who…want to make me feel better, but don't know how," she murmured "and I don't want to talk to _them_ about it," she kept going, slowly forcing out her feelings – "I want to work, and work is…a blessing, but I'm…dwelling on the doctor's appointment, and," she sighed. "It's hard, it's just…it's so hard."

Han leaned back, looking down at her hand on him, and then up to his face.

"It's got to be hard," he said hoarsely. "I get it. We didn't just…get over it and move on," he said, shrugging.

Leia nodded, resting her cheek on her knuckles again.

"I forgot there has to be a balance," she whispered, "between…unrestricted grief, and healing, getting back to…a good place."

"You think we shoulda stayed on Corellia longer?" Han asked gruffly.

She pursed her lips, shrugged a little.

"No," she murmured. "I might have…been a little more pragmatic, in preparing to come back," she said. "You were…readier than I was, to face it."

Han snorted. He gave her a look.

"Leia, I'd stay on Corellia with you forever," he retorted pointedly. "New Republic be damned."

That drew a smile to her lips.

"I know," she said, nudging his shin with her foot. She bit her lip, and shifted her head, reaching up to draw the towel on her shoulder into her lap. She shivered a little – the steam from her shower had dried off, and it was a little cold in their apartment. "No," she murmured again. "I think if we'd stayed too long," she trailed off for a moment. "No, I needed to come back. It's just hard," she repeated.

She tucked her hair behind her ears.

"The strange thing is, Han," she began faintly, "the negative, I suppose, with – learning how to grieve again," she looked up, her brow furrowing almost quizzically, "I don't know how to be healthily sad…and function."

She lifted her shoulders in a dry shrug, clearing her throat.

"I used to just…repress it and work. Feel nothing."

Han nodded, his head cocking slightly.

"Hmmm," he murmured.

Leia clicked her tongue hoarsely, her expression skeptical, and consternated.

"I don't know…how to learn, how to…navigate this."

"Talk to someone who's been there," Han suggested.

She sighed heavily, flicking her eyes downward – her father, to an extent; she should reach out more to her father – she was skittish of talking to him, because she hated to dredge up old tragedies, and she just – she was still fragile, when it came to intense grief around other people.

"'M not just talkin' about him," Han said carefully, implicitly understanding her thoughts. He paused, and then nodded over at her comm, which had been sitting on the kaffe table since she came home from work this afternoon. "Call Jobal back."

Leia followed his gaze, her eyes closing lightly – yes, call Jobal; her grandmother had left her a gentle, kind message about a day after they returned from Coruscant, asking only that Leia call her, when she was ready, if she wanted to talk to someone who had been there.

Leia was unsure if Jobal meant herself, or – one of her daughters – but she just – hadn't had the strength do return the call yet; she felt wary of it, like talking to someone other than her own mother was not good enough – but she couldn't have her own _mother_ –

"I will, Han," Leia murmured – she intended to, soon.

She stared at the comm for a moment longer, and then sat forward, looking down at her knees. Han rested his hand on her back, then ran his knuckles up and down her spine gently, tilting his head to watch her. She started to run her fingers through her hair, sectioning it into loose bundles for a plait – and she cleared her throat.

"I want to, ah – need to," she began in a small voice, "talk about this…appointment."

Han nodded, stopping his hand near her hip and massaging in circles, listening attentively – they had a follow-up appointment scheduled with her Dr. Mellis, at which she would ensure Leia was healthy following the miscarriage, and the dilation and curettage procedure she'd had, and give them some insights on what might have – on anything she could.

Leia had asked that she analyze what tissue she could to try and determine a cause, either unable to process, or deliberately ignoring, the doctor's quiet, calm assurances that there was going to be no indication that this had been Leia's fault.

Leia took a deep breath.

"I know what she's been telling us, that it's…that it's…normal," she said the word distastefully. "That there's…likely _nothing_ she can tell us, no explanation. Genetic…problems," Leia murmured – _nature, weeding it out_ , she thought – but she felt like that wasn't it, she felt, on a deeply embedded level, that something was wrong, and she could only interpret that as something – must be wrong with her.

Han kept up his soothing massage, and Leia bit her lip, clearly struggling with something.

"I need you to…understand something, to um," she sighed. "Prepare yourself for something."

"Okay," Han muttered simply, still watching her.

"If they can't find anything wrong with me," she started.

"Nothing is wrong with you, Leia," Han broke in. "Look, even if there is a problem that we gotta…look into, you're not _wrong_."

Leia swallowed hard.

"I understand what you're saying logically," she said, in a very controlled voice. "What I mean is…I can _get_ pregnant," she said, "that happened…immediately," she said, letting out a breath. "That wasn't a problem. If it's," she hesitated, "if it's something chemical that…makes it difficult for me to keep a pregnancy," she swallowed hard, her face turning pale as she thought of her mother.

She shook her head.

"I don't know if I can keep trying."

 _I am nowhere near as strong as my mother._

Han sat forward gingerly, his hand roaming up to her shoulder. He squeezed tightly.

"We can't know if that's – "

"Yes, I know," Leia said, her voice cracking, "the only way to know if it's that kind of problem is to – keep trying, and then if I keep losing," she broke off, shaking her head rapidly. "I can't describe how it felt, Han. I don't think I can," she sighed heavily – she didn't think she could do it again, and even now, thinking that was killing her, because she wanted – she wanted –

"I _want_ to have a baby, Han, I just can't – go _through_ what Mama when through."

Han squeezed her shoulder again. Leia shifted restlessly, and got up.

"I know you think I'm being too pessimistic," she started tensely.

"I didn't say that," Han answered slowly.

She turned back to him, folding her arms tightly across her chest, her face flushed.

"I keep having this recurring thought that I don't want to try again," she said shakily, "and I want to be honest with you about that."

Han took a deep breath, swallowing hard. He reached up and rubbed his jaw, nodding – well, he couldn't fault her for honesty, but he'd been so afraid – and no matter how hard he tried to constantly reaffirm that he'd never completely understand how she felt, he knew, part of him knew, somehow, that it wasn't right for them to give up yet.

"I know we just need to sit down and talk with Dr. Mellis and go from there," she said flatly. "But if she tells me there's something – that made it hard for me to carry," Leia broke off, her lips trembling. She shook her head firmly.

Han looked at her, choosing his words carefully.

"Leia, the medics all said it's most likely the same kind of normal thing that happens a lot," he began, and when he saw her start to protest, he lost some of his foresight, and burst out – "I don't get why you're so determined to think somethin's wrong with you."

Leia folded her arms across herself tightly, biting the inside of her lip and lowering her gaze. She looked at her feet, then looked up and stared at him, her eyes filling with tears.

"Han," she answered, her voice cracking, "I don't want to feel this way. I just do."

He grimaced at himself, reaching up to rub his forehead. He swore at himself internal, and got up stiffly, coming forward.

"Yeah," he mumbled, reaching out to hug her close. "I'm sorry, Sweetheart. I'm sorry." He pressed his lips to the top of her head, then released her, and gestured back to the couch to get her to come sit back down.

She allowed him to lead her back, and collapsed heavily, rubbing one hand against her ribs tensely.

"I have a lot going on I'm having a hard time sorting through. It was difficult admitting I want this and…I _don't_ want to give it up," she said fiercely, "but right now…I can't imagine going through _this_ again," she said softly.

Hard to decide she wanted a baby, hard to sort through all of the worries and fears surrounding it – and now she wanted it, so much. Han leaned over to kiss her temple, and refrained from offering any verbal comfort at the moment.

He wasn't sure he could say anything – he thought, for the next few days – was it five, until the appointment? Four – he didn't quite remember, but regardless, they had to take it day by day, still.

That Corellian chalet – it really froze time, and he had to remember that it hadn't been that long – it hadn't been long at all.

Leia's eyes burned, and she turned towards him a little.

"What if it doesn't work out, Han?" she asked quietly

She chewed on her lip, leaning back, pulling her knees to her chest and clutching at them.

"What if it just…doesn't?"

Han sighed. He pulled her closer, leaning into her heavily, turning his head to stare at her profile. He reached up and pushed some of her hair back, gently running his fingers through it. He was quiet for a long time, thinking of something to say, and then he leaned over, and took a deep breath, burying his lips in her hair.

"I love you so much, Sweetheart," he told her firmly.

Leia smiled tiredly.

She turned her head to nudge his jaw with her nose appreciatively, starting to feel a little better – Sith, the constant ups and downs were so awful, and even though she knew they were normal, didn't resist them, she was starting to ache to feel – the way she had before.

She relaxed in his arms, taking a few deep breaths – and then sat up abruptly, her eyes narrowing.

"Zozy?" she called. "Han, where's - ?" she asked suspiciously – Zozy was still a baby – a pup, that's how one referred to baby mookas – he got _into_ things -

"Zazu," Han called lazily, and Leia elbowed him.

" _Stop_ doing that," she hissed – Han kept deliberately getting it wrong to tease her – Zazu, Zoku, Zizi. "You'll confuse him. Zozy?" she called again.

She heard an unidentifiable _thunking_ noise – one that got louder – and muffled chirping, and a moment later Zozy came bounding around the sofa. Or rather, one of Han's boots, with a feathered tail sticking and two hind legs sticking out of it, bounded around the corner.

Leia squeaked in alarm.

"Han," she yelped, reaching over to slap at his arm insistently. "He's stuck. He's _stuck_ , get him loose!"

Alarmed by _her_ alarm, Han sat forward, snapping at Zozy – "Zozy, c'mere, you idiot," he scowled, trying not to laugh – how the damn thing had managed to get stuck in one of his boots – "Hold still," he snapped, snatching up Zozy.

Zozy writhed happily as Han tried to gently yank the boot off of his head, and then let out a chirping howl of gratitude, unfazed, when he was free. Leia had a stricken, pale look on her face, somewhere between amused, and scandalized; when she took him from Han to fawn over him –

"We – can't even – watch – the _mooka_!" she gasped, half-panicked – they'd almost had a baby – and here they were, letting Zozy get his head jammed up in a shoe –

Leia's face fell, and she didn't know whether to feel – appalled at herself, for thinking it was funny, or relieved, that she found something to laugh about, again, because that was always a relief - but even the thought that she and Han had been so nervous about being parents for the first time – and that it might have been a disaster – didn't really alleviate the pain of it being taken away from them so abruptly.

* * *

The cathedral located amongst the outdoor gardens was a magnificent testament to classic Alderaanian architecture. Its status as one of the last remaining truly Alderaanian structures, as well as one of the last places - being that it was on the grounds that were owned by Alderaan's Embassy - considered consecrated Alderaanian soil, made its already imposing beauty all the more meaningful. It was a small haven of its own, tucked away within the sprawling, defensive white-brick walls of the Embassy compound, fiercely preserved, and meticulously attended to, a quiet, clean place in the midst of Coruscant's shadowy, metallic smog.

Given that he had, at one time, been only a vaguely faithful man - more interested in the active philosophies of the living Force than the spiritual theology of his home world that held dear tenants of the Old Religions tempered with progressive and liberal ideology - the cathedral had been little more than a treasured, traditional part of the complex, when he worked out of Coruscant during the Old Republic; now, in light of all that had happened, and all that had been lost, it meant infinitely more - it was a true sanctuary, a way for him to connect with hearth, and home - the place where he had seen Leia married; the place where he came, often, in quieter hours, to remember a world now lost forever, and to miss his wife.

In this - in this place, he felt her presence was strong, and he did not dwell on whether that was a truth, or if he willed it to be a truth; what was important to him was the memory of Breha's quiet, strong faith - he knew that of all places, she would be happiest to be remembered here, and so this is where he sought her. Most often, he sat quietly in one of the pews in the middle of the main altar hall, studying the stained glass, sitting in quiet reflection; on this evening, in the lulling hours after dinner, he secluded himself in the prayer chapel - the very one where he had sat with Leia, moments before he walked her down the aisle - and engaged in an old ritual, one that had meant much to Breha - and somehow, meant more to him now than it had then.

At the front of the chapel before the simple, carved wooden altar, Bail knelt on the stone floor and bowed his head over the row of carved wax flowers that decorated the low railing - gorgeous confections of pale gold and soft blue, green, and silver, little representations of Alderaanian dew roses. His gaze lingered on the pearly, mismatched, dry droplets of melted residue in the petals - indications that others had prayed here, come here to seek light in darkness.

From his pocket, he pulled a spark igniter. He flicked it once, the sound eerily loud in the silent prayer chapel, and gingerly lit the tiny wooden fuse in the middle of a wax flower, watching it gently crackle and spark. He watched the glimmering flame for a moment, tilting his head, thinking of the times he had watched Breha do this; thinking of the one time he had realized it was important for him to be there with her when she did, so she felt less isolated.

He watched the light flicker, and then with great care, he repeated the lighting ritual six times, giving the same detailed attention to each one. He paused, his gaze heavy in an unlit flower - and then, with grace, he lit an eighth.

The ritual was not one that got easier with time, or with repetition; rather, repetition - reiterated the magnitude of the pain.

Bail tucked the spark igniter back into his pocket, and bowed his head, folding his hands neatly at waist-level, the subtle warmth of the flames bouncing off his face. He remained silent and still, in an emulation of prayer, for quite a while - until he heard the chapel door slide open, and then faint footsteps - and he knew the intruder must be family, because any other Alderaanian would have seen the Viceroy occupying the chapel and bowed out to pray another time. He tilted his head a little, more alert, listening as - she, he heard the rustling of a dress - sat down, and he waited until his moment of silent reflection had passed before he opened his eyes and tilted his head up to the altar, studying the stained glass motif in the window behind it.

He raised his hand to his forehead in a sign of universal peace, and then leaned down, nudging his fist into the stone floor to help leverage himself up - he grimaced, as his back protested, and the bones in his knees cracked, irritated by the stress put on them. He turned to her - he knew it was Leia - with a calm, welcoming expression, taking a moment to study her in the candlelight.

She looked good - so much better than she had looked in the hospital before she left, and better, even, than she had looked in her first day or so back at work; the colour was back in her cheeks a little, and she was sitting up straight, holding her bearings regally. Uncharacteristic as it was for Leia to seek sanctuary in a chapel, he was not surprised to see her - he only wondered who had directed her to him.

She let him look at her for a long time, and then she shifted, sitting forward a little, tilting her head at the softly glowing candles. Bail watched her eyes flick over them carefully, and was ready to meet her eyes again when she tilted her gaze up, looking at him through her lashes.

"Eight?" she asked finally, her voice hushed. He watched her lips part in quiet sadness. "I never knew it was eight."

Bail tucked his hands into the sleeves of his robe and came forward, turning to sit down next to her heavily. He straightened up, and sat back, quiet for a moment, and then he shook his head.

"Seven," he corrected gently. He lifted one of his hands, and pointed at the last lit flower. "That one is for you."

Leia gazed at it, the light reflecting off her face. She pressed her lips together, her heart skipping a few beats. She lowered her eyes, and turned her head back to her father, hands resting in her lap neatly - wax candle vigils were an ancient Alderaanian tradition; one lit flames, and let the light burn, out of respect for a lost loved one's soul. She held her breath achingly, thinking of her mother - seven; seven, and Leia had thought - perhaps three, before they looked outside themselves.

Fixated on the flowers, Leia pursed her lips, her voice husky when she spoke:

"Do you pray, Father?" she asked, gently curious.

She had never known him to be particularly religious.

She heard him sigh thoughtfully next to her.

"Much more, these days," he answered quietly. "It is difficult to deny the likelihood of some higher power, given my odds," he said, laughing quietly, "and I have always believed in the Force."

Leia said nothing, and after a moment, Bail leaned forward slightly, nodding his head at the flowers, his lips turning up in quiet nostalgia.

"This ritual meant very much to your mother," he said. "She always lit candles," he murmured. "So, I do it for her." He paused, and then inclined his head. "I do it for you, because she would. Because it would mean something for her."

Leia nodded, her gaze still lingering. After a little while, she tore it away, and turned to look at her father closely, her brow furrowing. She equivocated, unsure what to say, and then took a deep breath, shaking her head ever so slightly.

"Seven?" she asked again.

She didn't seem able to qualify the number with the word - seven miscarriages?

Bail took a deep breath. He had been preparing himself to talk with Leia for some time now, since the moment he had been woken up and told she was going through this. She didn't have her mother to lean on, and Bail wanted to offer as much in terms of understanding support as he could.

"Six," he said finally. "One of ours was late enough to be termed a stillbirth," he told her. He folded his hands together in his lap, and Leia looked down to see he was wearing his cuff links, the ones her mother would have given him as a wedding gift. "The last one," he murmured, "before you. The ordeal...it nearly killed Breha."

Leia's heart dropped, her stomach twisting. She felt - as if she might faint, or vomit - the very idea of it was unthinkable. The thought of having this happen a single additional time was enough to turn Leia off and yet, and yet -

She slipped her hand into the crook of her father's arm and turned towards him slightly, looking up at him wordlessly through her lashes - it was all she could do for the moment; she had no ability to think of something to say, or to do. She just looked at him, studied the lines on his face, the tranquility in his eyes, and though to herself - how did he survive?

 _Mama, how did you survive?_

"It was harder on her, physically, every time," Bail recounted quietly. "To say nothing for the emotional toll."

Leia swallowed hard. She leaned forward and rested her forehead on his arm, finding some comfort there.

"They were never able to tell you what was wrong?" she ventured huskily, murmuring into the fabric of his robes.

Her father's arm moved as he lifted it, moved again as he shrugged.

"They speculated. They tried to give us answers," he said, his voice even and slow. "There was nothing concrete." He frowned thoughtfully, remembering his and Breha's desperate search for answers, how they had scraped the bottom of the barrel when it came to specialists, and new age therapies - "Modern medicine...and nothing they could do."

It's what Han had raged about on Leia's behalf, too, outside her room at the Med Center. It's what Obi-Wan Kenobi had pondered in disbelief, standing outside of the clinic where Padme had just died, each of them trying to soothe one of her babies - _how does this happen?_ Obi-Wan lamented - _she was young, and healthy - and this is the modern age!_ It didn't matter - motherhood was an ancient killer, in some regards, and some mysteries still remained; some facts of life were so inherently natural that scientific advances would never defeat them.

Leia reached up and touched her forehead with the back of her knuckles, silent as she processed it. She placed that hand down on her father's arm, too, encircling his bicep with both of her hands, leaning against him.

"How?" Leia asked, the word escaping her lips in a hushed whisper. "How did she get through it?"

Through it, _through_ it - because Leia knew she must have never gotten _over_ it, not even when it was buried in the past, and she had Leia running through her palace halls causing mayhem and needing to be mothered.

Bail sighed.

"I don't know that I can answer that for her," he said. "I like to think I helped. That I made life worth it for her to keep waking up, to keep her faith alive, and her heart steady," he said, trailing off. "Hope," he said hoarsely. "She never lost hope, Leia," he said honestly. "Even when she seemed to be in despair," he shook his head. "She never lost hope."

Leia bowed her head, her eyes drifting back to the little chorus of candles, shimmering and remembering, a proxy for her mother's presence. She clenched her teeth softly, bit down on her tongue - and she still couldn't imagine; she felt in awe of her mother's fortitude and strength, humbled by it - shamed a little, by her own skittishness as it existed now - her raw warning to Han that she might not want to try this again seemed so cowardly, in the face of Breha's perseverance.

 _She wasn't Force sensitive,_ a nervous, insecure part of Leia whispered - _that isn't to say it didn't hurt her as much, but you, Leia, you felt excruciating death in your bones, in your soul, bleeding out of you like hot knives -_ Leia compressed her lips straightening up. She took a deep, steadying breath, quelling her thoughts a little. She wasn't here to compare herself to her mother, or vice versa; she was just here to talk to her father, to carry on with her grieving, to try to find insight, and feel as close to Breha as she could.

"It was something she very much wanted," Bail said honestly. "Something she didn't want to feel she had failed at, though I think the idea of it being a failure for her to not bear children is a distinctly feminine fear I don't understand. She was willing to die for motherhood," Bail went on, with a strange look on his face, "until I managed to convince her of the peculiarity of that," he gave a short, hoarse laugh, "how could she be a mother if she died trying?"

Bail shook his head - selfishly, almost, he'd been afraid of losing Breha; he would have given up long before she had agreed to, long before the final pregnancy that very nearly took her away from him for good.

"I was terrified of losing her," Bail murmured.

Leia nodded, squeezing his arm. She rested her head on his shoulder briefly again, quiet, reflective, content to stare at the flowers. She wasn't entirely sure if she had come to him for specifics, or just to talk, or just to be with him, to be in silent grief with someone other than Han - not because Han had failed her, or disappointed her in anyway, but because she was re-learning that there was merit to sharing sadness with more than one person. Different perspectives, and different kinds of comfort, were so much more important than she'd realized, these past few years.

Bail tilted his head down, and looked at her, resting her head on his arm as if she were a young girl again, a wounded child, or an affronted teenager - except he knew her pain was deep, and mature, and not so easy to fix as her youthful ills.

"How are you, Leia?" he asked her gently, a question he had not been able to bring himself to ask her in the times he'd seen her - the night of the miscarriage, or since. He hadn't wanted to overwhelm her, or make her feel pressured to have an answer - certainly, he had checked on her through Han, and that was enough, for a while; he wanted her to have time to start to cope, to feel lost and listless for a few days.

Leia drew in a shaky breath, sitting up. She squeezed his arm, and then released it, drawing her hands away and pressing her palms together in her lap. She smoothed her knuckles over her dress, her eyes on the material, and then looked up at the ceiling, eyes gazing intently through her lashes. She breathed out with a little more steadiness, and lowered her chin to meet his eyes.

"Exhausted," she said softly, "Angry. Devastated, anxious," she listed, "resigned."

She bit her lip, and lifted her shoulders.

"I'm a mess," she confessed in a small voice, and then tilted her head, lowering her shoulders in a completion of a slow shrug. "But," she added, very light. "I'm going to be okay."

That, she said with confidence, and Bail smiled at her. He reached over to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ears in a short, sweet gesture, and then pulled his hands back to his lap, continuing to study her profile. Her hands curved in towards her stomach, and she looked down at her knees, licking her lips.

"It was - Rouge, who told me you were down here," Leia said quietly. "I - I've been meaning to talk to you, I just haven't wanted to put you through...old heartache."

"You needn't worry, Leia," he said, just as he'd told her before - "The thing about old heartache is that it is unchanged by new pain. Only made wiser."

A small smile crept across Leia's lips at her father's philosophy - he always was one for wizened, gentle philosophy. Her fingertips brushed her ribs, and she nodded, almost to herself, before venturing -

"I spoke with Jobal," she revealed. "In my office, just after dinner...she asked me to call her. To talk," Leia took a deep breath, "and it was nice. I needed it. Almost as if...I had something close to Mama," she trailed off, her lips trembling. "Not the same. But she - she talked to me. She just talked. She understood."

"She understood?" Bail ask, thinking of Han - he'd wanted Leia to have a woman to talk to, and Bail remembered telling him - _you can't just ask a woman if she's been through it._

Leia nodded.

"Yes," she said, biting her lip softly. "She'd had two."

Jobal had told her - that her first pregnancy was a miscarriage, and so was her last; the first had been bewildering to her, happened too early for her to have been very attached; she was honest with Leia, reflecting almost clinically - _I abhorred myself for how detached I felt from it._ And then her last, she said, after Sola and Padme, it devastated, because with her two little girls healthy and happy at home, she was so keenly aware of what she had lost.

Leia had asked tentatively asked her why, after the last, she hadn't tried again if she wanted a third child – and Jobal, kind as ever, had simply answered that she already had two babies, and she had taken the disappointment as a gentle sign.

Leia – was still not sure she wanted to hear about signs, and things meant to be – it was spectacularly infuriating, in the most awful of ways, but she felt no animosity for Jobal for her forthrightness; in fact, being able to talk to another woman about the shared experience was – invaluable.

It eased the sharp, persistent pain of not having her mother to help her through this.

"Was she helpful?" Bail asked earnestly.

Leia nodded, crossing her ankles and sitting back, relaxing a little. She reached up to brush her knuckles under her chin, thinking about the conversation.

"Ahhh, yeah," she said faintly. "Yes, she was. She," Leia's brow furrowed, "she's very wise," Leia murmured.

Jobal had – inadvertently, in a way – been very good at guiding how Leia could act with other people about this, because she had been there; she told Leia how she answered questions, or how she had handled things that brought up memories.

"Optimistic," Leia murmured. "She's got such a good heart."

Leia bit her lip for a moment, shaking her head.

"It was a good conversation," she admitted, folding her arms across herself. "I still…miss Mama," she said, voice quivering. "I still wish I could talk to her, hear her insights," Leia trailed off.

She looked at the eight glimmering flames, seven of them for her mother, and parted her lips, her breath rushing out of her.

She laid her head on her father's shoulder.

"She had such incredible strength," Leia whispered.

"She did," Bail agreed warmly. "So do you, Leia," he added simply. "And you…gave your mother a lot of her strength. In some ways, you brought her back to life."

Leia smiled a little. Mesmerized by the flames again, she parted her lips, hesitating on her next question – she swallowed hard, and then –

"Did she – you – ever get over not having a baby of your own?"

Bail looked down at her, studying her face intently.

"She had you," he said. "I _have_ you."

Leia grimaced softly, her lashes closing over her eyes – she understood that; she considered them her parents, plain and simple, and nothing about blood diminished that – yet still, still –

"You know what I mean," she murmured softly – pleading, because she wanted an answer; needed it.

Bail sighed.

He sat forward a little, and frowned hard, looking at the light of the wax flowers – at one time, he might have said the answer was complex, but he was long over any conflict he'd had with himself regarding bloodlines or the pitfalls of adoption.

He was still parsing out his answer when Leia cleared her throat.

"Father, I," she started, her voice thickening uncertainly – she sounded choked up, and when he looked at her, she was pale, and her hands were shaking a little. He sat up, and turned towards her, reaching for her shoulder.

"You look ill," he said, concerned. "Do you need medical – "

"No," she interrupted in a rush. "No, I'm alright, I – this is difficult for me to…ask, or," her brow furrowed, "talk about? I want to ask you about," she broke off, her lips compressing, "something, and it makes me feel – awful."

He ran his palm gingerly over her shoulder and sat up, nodding.

"Well, ask, Leia," he said calmly. "I won't think less of you."

She grit her teeth, nearly dissolving into tears, and then she composed herself, taking a deep breath, and pressing her palms together as she looked up at the eighth flower – the flower he'd lit for her.

"When Han and I…were discussing having a baby, when I was working through my fears about Vader…he never mentioned adoption," she took a steadying breath, "I didn't either," she admitted. "And he…I," she sighed harshly, "don't get me wrong; Han has been – incredible, I'm not mad at Han," she mumbled, prefacing this – "I was having a rough night last night," she revealed, "again."

She paused to lick her lips, and then looked down at her fingers, rubbing her palms together as she braced herself to go on.

"I'm fairly, ahm, skittish of the idea of – this happening again," she forced out, "and Han's…been good about that, and last night he said – he said," she pursed her lips, swallowing hard. "That he'd be okay if I didn't want to; he had no reason to ask me to risk this pain again," she reached up and pushed her hair back messily, "that we could adopt, if that was better."

Bail listened, his expression carefully controlled – he had not expected her to want to talk about this, but he wasn't oblivious to the conversation she was referencing, if for no other reason than Han had surreptitiously called him in the middle of the night last night, waking him out of a dead sleep, and started the conversation with the words _– Hey. Viceroy. I think I fucked up._

Leia closed her eyes tightly.

"He's doing _everything_ he can to make sure he's there for me, and he's trying to – show me, I know, that he doesn't want to put any pressure on me."

Bail nodded slowly.

"That comment bothered you?"

Lai laughed mirthlessly at herself, the sound hoarse.

"It did," she said, "but only – because of how I reacted."

She bit her lip for a moment, and then looked up at her father, her face pale – and she didn't say anything else, thinking of her response – in tears, wrapping herself up in his arms, mumbling – _I don't want that, Han, I want to have your baby!_ – anger coursing through her, the thought that _it wasn't fair_ – and then guilt, because of her own background; because of her beloved parents.

She swallowed hard and looked back down at her hands.

"I told him that I – "

"Didn't want that?" Bail finished.

Leia looked up at him sharply, her face flushing hotly. She reached up to rub her palm across her cheek, wiping away tears, and then nodded, flicking her eyes down, watching him through her lashes.

He offered her an empathetic, encouraging smile.

"It isn't usually the first inclination, Leia," he said simply. "There's no shame in that."

She looked a little miserable, nose crinkling, brow furrowing.

"I can't control these fears that I'm going to find out I can't have a baby," she whispered, "even though I have no factual basis for them," she bit her lip, "and while that absolutely heartbreaking thought is plaguing me, I keep having this aggressive, recurrent thought that I don't want to adopt," her voice cracked, "and I feel awful," she confessed, bringing her wrist up to her lips, "because _I_ was adopted," she said, "and I had such a good life."

She closed her eyes tightly, catching a few tears as they fell, and then opening her eyes, and sitting up, taking a deep breath –

"And Han – " she started – but she did not elaborate, because the reasons Han had given her for wanting children – _I want little versions of you, Leia_ – those words meant so much to her, and they had so convinced her, and they were the very essence of what was hurting her right now.

"Han…I think he wants it to be _his_ ," she whispered, leaving it at that.

She pressed her lips together hard.

"Father, I – please, don't think I'm trying to imply that I am not yours – "

Her father laid his hands on her knee in a placating gesture, clearing his throat. He waited until her words faded, watching her, and then took his own deep breath, thinking with some amusement of how Han had related this very tense conversation _– Yeah, I fucked up, Bail, I made it worse somehow – but I didn't think she'd – I mean, she's adopted –_

"Lelila," he said calmly.

He held her gaze for a moment.

"Breha felt that way, too. Hell, Leia," he said honestly. " _I_ felt that way."

He watched that settle in, her eyes widening, watching him intently – and then he nodded slowly, going on.

"We, of course, were also considering the nature of our positions – the pressures we were under to provide an heir of the blood. Listen to me, little girl," he said paternally, his voice earnest, and wise: "it is not a sin to want a child that is a physical part of you and the person you love. It's normal. It's a biological imperative. Breha and I _wanted_ that. We tried for years," he stopped, and turned pointedly to look at the flowers – _seven_ , Leia; he _thought seven times, we wanted this._

Bail sighed tiredly.

"It didn't make us bad people, wanting that. It became a problem when Breha's health became so threatened, and our relationship was suffering for something that was not meant to be. And we had to decide…was _where_ the child came from important to us, or did we want to raise a child together because we, as a couple, wanted to be parents?"

He hesitated.

"We did not automatically decide to adopt," he said, blunt and honest. "We worried it wouldn't be fair, the responsibility we would demand of a child – or we worried of what message it would send if we adopted, but did not raise the baby as the heir. We hadn't quite understood what we wanted yet. For years we were still coping with our own losses."

He smiled a little.

"The galaxy was falling apart and war was raging – and even when we decided that for us, the desire to be parents was stronger than anything, we weren't sure what to do. We were more tentatively considering surrogacy – and then circumstances aligned, and you needed a home, and protection," he trailed off, shrugging, "and that was that."

He reached over to take her hand, squeezing it.

"There was nothing wrong with us trying to have a baby, and nothing wrong with us turning elsewhere when it didn't work," he said. "What would have been wrong is if we had treated you as lesser when we took you in. And I," he shrugged a little, "like to think we never did."

Leia looked at his hand for a long time, and then looked up.

"I never felt less than," she said quietly.

She pressed her lips together, and smiled weakly.

Bail shrugged.

"You were our fate," he said, releasing her hand and reaching up to touch her face reverently. "You needed us at the right time, and we needed you, and that's what _worked_."

He pulled his hand back to himself, leaning back to study her, and giving her some space, thinking about his next words, what she might need to hear. She looked bewildered, thoughtful – relieved.

She shook her head, holding her hands up helplessly, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees.

"I can't even understand why I'm hung up on this, why," she trailed off, her tone frustrated, her shoulders tense. "Han's right, this is not – the end of the world, but it feels so, so, _final_ – and those thoughts made me feel so – selfish and ungrateful."

"Han told you it wasn't the end of the world?" Bail asked, a little wary – that sounded a bit dismissive.

Leia gave a quiet snort of derision.

"No, of course he didn't, Han would never," she quite abruptly started to cry, stumbling over her words – "Han has been so sweet and so supportive, and I love him so much," she gasped, wincing at herself. She caught her tongue in her teeth. "Oh, I'm sure you have no interest in hearing me this moonstruck."

Bail smiled a little dryly.

"I'm glad he's that good to you," he said simply.

Leia covered her face for a moment, nodding. One moment she was fatalistic, the next she was optimistic, she went from withdrawn to upbeat to scared – hormones, surely, but it was also – so many other complex feelings.

Bail waited for her to settle down a little, watching her wipe her eyes, and he sat forward to be on eye level with her, leaning down.

"The mind just goes wild, in times of heartache. You fixate on odd things. You lose sight of logic, or you start to be too logical. You start to think optimism is futile, but you remember that hope never is," he paused, and nodded to affirm his words: "You take it day by day, Leia, and you don't beat yourself up over decisions you haven't even had to confront yet."

Leia licked her lips, staring down at her feet. She slowly lifted her head to look at the flames still dancing in the flowers, and she pulled one of her hands in towards her abdomen, brushing her fingertips against it.

"Daddy," she started bravely. "I think…this is it for me," she began slowly – she had told Han himself, even, that she had not had an encompassing desire to be a mother; so much of what defined her decision, and her desire, to have a baby was _Han,_ and right now, it still remained that she wanted a baby that was his – "I don't think I want a baby if I can't have it myself. With Han."

She pursed her lips.

"And it's going to be so hard if I can't."

Bail interlaced his fingers, his expression serene.

"Leia, in life, people make different choices – all their own, all for personal reasons," he said. "That's normal. That's fair. You just see what happens."

Leia nodded – she looked at the flowers still.

"I know…there's no reason to believe I can't," she said, fixated for a moment on the flowers – "I mean this," she shrugged, thinking of her mother, of Jobal; "this happens to so many women. I could be okay."

Bail nodded.

He considered her for a moment longer, and then he said, succinctly –

"You are not required to adopt simply because you were adopted," he told her sagely, "and you do not know what is going to happen. You might change your mind - or, you might try again, and have it all go well," he smiled softly, and whispered, "and this will just be another sadness of the past."

If the worst did happen, she – and Han; though Bail didn't know Han's specific thoughts on this, he presumed Han had the same chemical inclination that many men had, to want a baby that was _his_ in the specifically physical sense – might very well change their minds; they might see it more as spiritual, than physical. Bail – acutely, and deeply personally, understood how difficult it was to overcome certain biases, when nature demanded it. The fact remained, though - that people were different; for some, adopting a child was a no-brainer, the first choice even when fertility was a given, for others, adoption was not the answer even in the face of a childless life; there were complicated facets to all decisions, in all parts of life, and this was no different.

"For what it's worth, Leia, you might have your own reasons against adoption as a result of yours ending in a somewhat traumatic crisis of self," he said honestly. "That's valid. I don't think it erases the family we were, you, your mother and I," he went on, self-aware, logical – "adopted children have plenty of struggles – they differ from the struggles of biological children, but there are struggles, all the same."

Leia considered it – _and maybe I'd rather deal with the inarguable genetic connection to Vader, than the horror of dragging some poor, orphaned innocent into this public family hellscape._

She didn't think her life was a hellscape, though; and in most cases, considerations regarding children went back to the same root: would they be happy, healthy, safe, _provided_ for? She had this fierce resistance to adoption right now - and perhaps, deep down, it stemmed from a selfish root; she had looked upon the prospect of motherhood with such hope and conviction, and she had wanted it to be one thing in her life that was perfectly, completely hers, without baggage - no other parents, no other legacies, or identity crises; perhaps her father was right - she respected adoption, but shied from it, because of the intersectional burdens: she knew what it was to have a slight, disconcerting wonder in the back of her mind regarding where she came from - she wanted this to be hers, and Han's - and maybe, the complexity of her thoughts on that did _not_ diminish her admiration for adoptive parents, her own included. Nor did it delegitimize adoption.

Leia looked at the flowers for a long time, silent now, thinking of all the places her mind had gone lately, all the people she had talked to – she stared at her mother's seven flames, and her new one, burning there together, and she felt braver, and smaller, all at once.

"I want answers, and I might never get them," she murmured.

Bail sat back casually.

"You have a follow-up appointment?" he asked.

Leia nodded, compressing her lips.

"In two days," she said, lifting her shoulders. "I want it over with," she sighed tiredly. "I want a point to…move on from."

She sat back, too, and wiped her face. She looked up at the altar lazily, her mind calming in the presence of her father's understanding – and the presence of her mother, too, she thought - some ethereal, spiritual part of her.

"Are you prepared for having no real answer?" Bail asked.

"I don't think so," Leia answered, quick and simple, "but…I'll find a way to cope. I always do."

She was quiet a while, and then closed her eyes heavily.

"It would be…so much easier, if I hadn't," she trailed off. "If I wasn't – sensitive," she said vaguely. "So…aware of it's presence, of…the life fading."

Her father reflected on that.

"No," he said gently. "It wouldn't be easier. Perhaps in some ways – but harder in others."

Leia accepted that – accepted it, because it explained, in some unexpected way, why in some hours in the Med Centre, after the worst of it was over, after there was nothing but hollowness inside her – she had felt some spark of relief, and not because she was relieved she had miscarried – nothing such as that – but an almost soothing whisper from the Force, almost peaceful, telling her – _it was better for it this way; something was wrong – the distress was too much._

There were some who said that miscarriage was a way of nature making a decision that modern medical advances had wrenched away from it, and placed into the laps of devastated parents - and Leia thought – _if something was wrong with my baby – at least I didn't have to make the choice._

 _At least Han and I didn't have to._

She took a deep breath, and looked over at her father.

"Thank you," she said quietly. She looked around the chapel, reveling in the comfort she found here. "I don't know what I would do without you," she said – both to her father, and the overwhelming presence of her mother.

Bail smiled good-naturedly.

The two of them, father and daughter, sat in silence for a while; awash in the glow of candlelight, quietly reflecting, taking solace in the sanctuary that was left of Alderaan – and then Bail spoke, gentle, and slow:

"The Christening ceremony, at the Haven," he began. "I wonder if you would prefer Rouge," he started.

Leia was already shaking her head.

"No," she said, very soft. She nodded at the flowers. "Mama would have done it. I'll do it."

Bail nodded.

"You may change your mind," he allowed mildly. "I know that would have been close to term for you. You need only say the word."

Leia nodded.

"Thank you," she said softly, turning her eyes on him.

She shifted her hands towards her abdomen – she said nothing to her father of it, but she had been looking over the files of couples for the Christening in the past few days, finding both solace, and heartache in it.

She had thought there might be a chance it worked out that the Christening ceremony was for her baby – but that was not to be – and it would have been an inconvenient to her duties, to be pregnant, or have a newborn at the time –

Leia swallowed hard at the callous thought, furrowed her brow – part and parcel of the hormones, of the process; intrusive thoughts, feelings that were alternatively devastated, or confident.

After a moment, she asked –

"The aviary, Mama's," she murmured. "Was it her safe place?" Leia lifted her eyes. "The birds, were they how she filled the emptiness?"

She saw her father nod out of the corner of her eye, and smiled a little.

"You have your own little bird, do you not?" Bail asked, arching a brow.

Leia laughed hoarsely.

"He's a mooka," she mumbled. "Zozy."

Bail arched his brows.

"I thought Han was kidding," he said dryly, and Leia laughed again, deeper this time, richer.

"Oh, Han," she sighed.

Han, who couldn't decide if he loved or hated that damn thing, now, he spent half his time trying to teach it tricks and the rest of the time outraged that Leia let it sneak up on their pillows at night and snuggle with her, nudging Han out of the way –

Bail looked at the smile on his daughter's face, and felt confident that she would be okay – she had a lot of her mother in her, blood or no blood – and for that matter, she had plenty of strength from the mother that was physically in the blood; both were incredible women – and so, Bail felt, was Leia; incredible enough to get through this, and destined, he thought, to find her answers to this much sooner than she thought – with much more ease than all of her parents had.

* * *

Luke ventured out to the _Falcon's_ private hangar in the late afternoon partly for lack of anything better to do – much like Han, he was a fighter pilot without a fight, these days; a commander without real commands to give. Luke was so often on personal or extended leave in his Jedi searches that his military command was more of a formality, as it were, and for reasons that were in some ways the same as Han's, in some ways different, he, too, had his doubts about re-commissioning when the new commitment cycle came up. He wanted to devote his time to the study of his art, the fortification of his knowledge in the Force, so he could have confidence in passing that art down to new generations.

It was thinking of future generations – those lost, those wanted, those still on the horizon – that led him to seek out Han shortly after he and Leia returned from Corellia. He wanted to check up on them both – speak with them, offer support, reassure Leia where he could – but he considered it best to approach Han first, test the waters.

Leia was dealing with enough as she re-ingratiated herself in work, and brief as it had been, Luke _had_ spoken with her while she was tucked away at her mountain retreat. Beyond the tense night at the med center, he hadn't really had a chance to sit with Han – and he had a mild suspicion that Han's needs might have been neglected, for the sake of Leia's, in all this. That wasn't to say triage was a poor way to address emotional trauma – Luke was painfully, physically aware of how damaging Leia's was – but he had no frame of comparison for what it was like for Han, and he figured he could provide some head space for his friend that was – disconnected, a little.

The _Falcon's_ ramp was down, and he traversed it easily, glancing around the outside to see if anyone was there. He ran into Chewbacca in the mainhold, and the Wookiee greeted him with a warm growl and a grin, rubbing his paw over Luke's hair. As he smoothed it, Luke asked –

"Han here?"

Chewbacca nodded, and grunted, gesturing back at the cabin.

 _[Of course he is here. He is supposed to be at work,]_ he quipped, and Luke gave him a sheepish look in response, tugging at the collar of his orange flight suit.

"Errr," he muttered. "Me too."

Chewbacca snorted, but shook his head good-naturedly, waving Luke off towards the cabin blithely. Since Chewie had directed him that way without caution, Luke made his way there and ducked in, his hands tucked into his pockets as he stepped over the threshold – the door was flung wide open, but almost as he was saying Han's name – rather loudly, at that – he realized the man in question was asleep.

Sprawled out on his bunk at an angle that looked – significantly less than comfortable – Han's feet were hanging off the bunk because of how far he'd scrunched down. He had a pillow tucked awkwardly under his chest, his head hanging off of it, and he jerked a little when he heard Luke call his name.

Blinking roughly, he lifted his head and grimaced, looking very much like people often did when they had been taken in by an impromptu nap – and from what it looked like, Han had spent most of that nap stubbornly twisting around trying to get comfortable, without surrendering to actually getting into bed and committing to a bona fide, mid-day sleep.

Luke frowned apologetically, holding his hands up.

"Damn," he swore under his breath. "Uh, sorry, Han," he said with a wince. "Chewie said – he didn't mention you were asleep – "

"S'fine," Han said gruffly, wincing. He sat up, and swung his legs off the bunk, his boots hitting the floor with concrete finality. "Need to be up," he muttered thickly, rubbing his hands over his face – he frowned, and checked his wrist, hen arched his brows, annoyed. "Didn't mean to sleep that long," he griped.

Luke folded his arms, looking curious for a moment, and then he compressed his lips, nodding in understanding.

"Leia's havin' bad nights, huh?" he asked quietly.

He knew – by virtue of Chewbacca, and his own experience in finding Han asleep on the _Falcon_ at random hours – that there were times when Han snuck away to catch up on missed sleep, if things were particularly rough during his normal sleep schedule. Luke had rarely mentioned it to Han, and he'd never dare mention it to Leia – he knew, just as Han did, that it would do a number on her if she thought she was disturbing Han or making life hard on him in ways it didn't have to be, and she'd – probably lose some of the respite she found knowing he was unbothered by her restlessness.

Han didn't resort to sneaking shut-eye on the _Falcon_ very often; for the most part, Leia wasn't half as bad as she thought she was, when it came to waking him up, or having restless nights – he was so used to it, more often than not he could soothe her half-asleep himself – but these past few weeks had been rough ones.

Not only for her – he had his own reasons for insomnia, hypersensitivity to her wakefulness.

He gave a short little nod.

"You blame 'er?" he asked dryly, knowing full well that Luke did not, and Luke answered –

"No," – redundantly, and with heavy understanding.

He shrugged a little, a grimace touching his lips.

" _I_ had a bit of trouble sleeping," he muttered.

Han nodded, squinting.

"Sorry 'bout that," he said slowly.

Luke compressed his lips hesitantly, thinking at first Han was being sarcastic – but he realized Han was sincere, and just didn't know what to say. Han usually didn't know what to say in reference to Luke and Leia's Force connection.

He watched Han yawn, and then start rubbing his shoulder and neck, wincing. He was getting – too damn old to be sleeping sprawled out casually on the bunk like that – and he swore under his breath at himself, also thinking he was too damn young to be thinking things like _that_.

He glanced up at Luke.

"You need somethin'?" he asked mildly.

"Huh-uh," Luke answered, shrugging. "Uh, nothing, no, I was just dropping by to see how you are," he admitted bluntly. "Hope that doesn't bother you."

Han shrugged, shook his head.

"It doesn't," he said, and then eyed Luke's flight suit. "Skivin' off your shift, eh?" he joked.

"Aren't _you_?" Luke retorted pointedly, and Han grinned wryly, and nodded, his brow crinkling. He sat up a little straighter.

Luke folded his arms and leaned against the wall, looking smug.

"Leia know you're losin' your passion for the Rebellion?" he teased.

"She know _you_ are?" Han fired right back. He shared a mildly accusatory look with his brother-in-law, and then shrugged, reaching up to grab onto the top of the bunk, stretching one of his legs out flat with a wince. "S'not the Rebellion anymore," he muttered.

Luke nodded in earnest agreement.

"Which is good," he said sincerely. "But, uh, the military in peacetime – "

"Is just politics?" Han finished.

Luke shrugged.

"Well, its bureaucratic," he placated.

Han snorted.

"That's what Leia says when she wants me to go to a function but doesn't want to trigger me."

" _Trigger_ you?" Luke quoted.

Han gave him a half-smirk.

"She thinks political events _trigger_ me."

Luke laughed.

"So?"

"So, she'll call 'em _bureaucratic get togethers_ ," Han elaborated.

Luke smirked.

"What does she think happens if you get triggered?"

"She thinks, maybe based on fact, maybe she made it up, _beats_ me," Han said, with an air that said he was consciously aware that she was _not_ making it up at all, "that I'll drink a lot and grab her ass."

Han yawned again and sat forward, leaning on his knees.

"True," he muttered, laughing smugly to himself.

Luke rolled his eyes.

"Great, thanks for the info," he muttered.

Han shrugged. He smirked, and lifted his head, jerking his chin at Luke a little.

"You okay, kid?" he asked seriously.

Luke blinked a few times, caught off guard.

"Hey, I said I was coming to see how _you_ were," he answered.

Han shrugged.

"Yeah, but you were pretty messed up," he said gruffly. He didn't elaborate, because he was sure Luke didn't want to be reminded, but when they'd asked him to give a little blood just to shore Leia up some, he'd passed out during the process – which Han had _never_ known the kid to do before.

Luke shrugged.

"It didn't last," he said quietly. "You know, after," he shrugged uncomfortably. "It mostly faded for me, after," he stopped again. "Did Leia talk to you about this? Do you know - ?"

"Yeah," Han said shortly, looking down at his palms. "She told me. I get what you're saying. The heartbeat stopped."

Luke nodded, his expression solemn.

"I haven't been…sure if I did the right thing, coming over," he said hesitantly, "because I know I barged in, I just hadn't really felt her that…distressed before."

Han appeared to flinch a little – never uncomfortable with references to Leia suffering something – but nodded, looking up firmly.

"It was okay," he said. "I wasn't doin' such a great job of handlin' it, Luke," he said honestly, a sour look crossing his face. "Couldn't find my damn comm, didn't know what she _wanted_ me to do," he trailed off, shrugging roughly. "Glad you showed up."

"Okay," Luke said simply.

He hesitated, and scuffed his foot on the floor.

"You don't have to ask about _me_ ," Luke added. He frowned, unsure if he should continue, and then said – "It wasn't my baby."

Han looked back down at his hands. He rubbed his thumb in a rough circle in the middle of his palm, and nodded.

"I'm sorry, Han," Luke said quietly. He lifted one shoulder uncomfortably. "I don't really know how else to say it. Guess it's kind of empty or generic but…I am. For you and Leia."

Han nodded again. He looked up, narrowing his eyes intently.

"Yeah," he said. "Thanks, kid. Appreciate it."

Luke nodded back. He waited a few moments, in silence, and then cleared his throat.

"You're okay, then?" he asked.

Han got up, really stretching, and paced across the room to one of his metal storage bureaus, turning and leaning against it. He tilted his head far back, staring at the ceiling, blinking, and then straightened to a more comfortable, natural position, his hands braced on the edge of the bureau as he rested back against it.

"'M okay," he said flatly. He frowned tightly. "Just worried 'bout Leia," he said simply.

"How was Corellia?" Luke asked.

Han shifted, and folded his arms, his brows going up. He nodded more confidently.

"Good," he said, sure of himself. "It was right, goin' there," he said. He glanced at Luke, brow furrowed. "She talked to you, didn't she? Called you that day she called Tavska?"

Luke nodded.

"Not for long, not about much," he said honestly. "I think she just wanted reassurance that…she wasn't responsible, y'know," he said gruffly. He bowed his head a little, thinking of that night, thinking of Leia demanding of him – _Luke, can't you do something!_ He shuddered, wishing he'd had a better answer – he had no power to reverse death, and even if he did, something deep in the depths of his soul told him that was a violently perverse act, to take command of the Force's will and twist it.

"You couldn't have done anything, right?" Han asked brusquely. He didn't sound suspicious – he sounded dismissive, but maybe a little interested. "You don't…I mean, I've never seen you do nothin' like that."

Luke shook his head.

"Don't have power over death," he said flatly. His brow furrowed tensely. "Things happen the way they do – " he stopped talking, noticing Han give a sharp twitch of his shoulder, as if a warning that he didn't want to hear any faithful platitudes.

Luke fell silent, and then said:

"She mostly wanted to talk about the Force aspect of it," he said quietly. "Um, she…well, I don't have any guidance on that, but she wanted to…confide, I guess?"

 _Luke,_ she'd said quietly, _there might have been reason the Jedi order did not allow women to do this._

Luke wasn't sure what to think of that, except perhaps it was some way of protecting them from crushing sorrow that may have been – distracting, or debilitating –

But life had its crushing sorrows no matter what, and Jedi had always been privy to them more often than the average person, given their profession; for them to mandate that women weren't entitled to embark on their own choice regarding whether or not to risk sadness was – misguided; unfair.

The men had no such restrictions - but then, Leia's experience left Luke wondering if _he_ would have some similar experience, if the same thing were to happen to his own child; would there be some connection, or was Leia's so strong and so bewildering because it was, in more ways than genetics, she was _physically_ a part of it, for the first significant months of life?

He had felt, through Leia's own inability to shield herself, the sudden absence of a glow that had been about her lately, but he hadn't really felt it like she had, his agony had been more tangential to _hers_ , specifically.

 _I feel more attuned to the Force, and I can't make sense of it_ – Leia had told him, tired, eyes red, while Han was away at the market – _I think it took a lot of innate power to feel so aware of that little presence, and now everything is amplified._

Luke doubted she'd have been so aware if she'd gotten pregnant before she ever knew she was Force sensitive – she wouldn't have been looking, might have misidentified things.

Han was staring at him expectantly, and Luke cleared his throat. He shrugged.

"I mean, all things considered, she seemed to be doing _okay_ ," he said hoarsely.

His brow furrowed almost curiously, and Han smirked dryly, nodding.

"She _is_ ," he said sincerely. "I mean, she's real upset," he said, and Luke nodded – obviously – "but, uh," Han continued, "she doesn't seem…scared of bein' upset. S'like she's not…bothered by it."

He went quiet for a moment.

"'M proud of her," he said, almost to himself.

Luke smiled, and Han shifted his weight, frowning a little.

"Been a little harder, gettin' back to things," he said flatly. "Y'know, Corellia was good, but it was kind of a bubble – which she needed, but," he trailed off. He shrugged roughly. "Facin' people's hard for her."

Han actually gave a little grime shudder.

"You know she'd just told Carlist and Mon, _that_ day?"

Luke nodded, grimacing.

"The press seems tame, though," he offered.

Han snorted.

"Yeah, that threw 'er off a little," he said. "Winter joked that they were all distracted because Evaan and Pooja leaked a bunch of nude pictures of Bail."

Luke looked alarmed.

" _What_? I didn't see any. He has – _what_?"

"Kriff, kid, they were jokin'," Han snorted, rolling his eyes. "It made her laugh, though. Not sure why the press doesn't seem to give a damn she disappeared for _two_ _weeks_ ," he said dryly.

They sure seemed to give a damn about every other single thing Leia – or he himself – did.

This time, Luke shrugged.

"Guess it's close enough to your year anniversary maybe the thought you went on a second honeymoon."

Han looked grim.

"Some second honeymoon," he muttered.

Luke cringed. He tucked his hands behind him to cushion his perch against the wall, and frowned, watching Han sadly – he did seem okay; quite like Leia, he seemed in control, but acutely aware of grief, and able to cope with it – of that, Luke was glad, for both of them.

"Well," Luke began, cocking his head, "is that thing she keeps taking with her to work helping her ease back in?" he teased, arching a brow smugly.

Han looked uncertain, and then glared at him, frowning.

"Zozy?" he asked, knowing full well what Luke meant.

Luke laughed.

"Her name is _Zozy_?"

"She's a he," Han started – and Luke laughed harder.

"It's a boy thing named _Zozy_?"

"It's a boy mooka, and yeah, it's named Zozy, 'cause it's named what Leia wanted to name it," Han fired back stubbornly, turning a menacing glare on Luke. "And you're not gonna make fun of it."

"Nah, not to Leia," Luke said. "To you, I sure as hell am gonna make fun of it."

Han scowled at him.

"Mooka?" Luke asked. "Where'd you find somethin' like that?"

"At the market," Han muttered grimly. "He was kinda cute, 'cept," he lifted his hand, and showed Luke the tiny little bit marks all over it – Zozy's favorite chew toy was Han's knuckles, and Han had attempt to put a stop to it once by popping Zozy on the snout, but the little guy had looked so offended and betrayed that Han grudgingly allowed him to resume.

Luke's eyes widened, and he snorted.

"He was rejected by his mother, the guy hockin' him said," Han said gruffly. "And, he makes Leia smile."

Luke looked smug, but nodded in understanding.

"She needs that, right now," he allowed.

Han nodded, and Luke shifted his weight, reaching into his pocket. He held his hand there for a moment, and then cleared his throat –

"Hey, uh – look, I got somethin', for Leia – well for both of you, sort of," he muttered uncertainly. "Or um, for the baby," he said slowly, pulling his hand out of his pocket, "and I was gonna give it to her if he had a shower – or, at her shower, 'cause Sola wanted to plan one," he trailed off, holding it in his palm. "Anyway," he muttered, "I figured I'd ask you what I should do."

Han leaned forward, looking over at what Luke was offering. It was carved, clearly by hand, the size of Luke's palm, and had all round edges. Curious, Han picked it up, his brow furrowing, and he leaned back, examining it.

"Is it a rattle?" he asked, stumped.

Luke shook his head.

"No, it's for teething," he said. "It's carved out of japor ivory," he explained.

Han held it in his palm with interest.

"Splinters," he mumbled, looking at Luke warily.

Luke grinned.

"Hey, at least we know you think like a concerned parent," he said gently, and then nodded. "The carvings are treated, to make it soft, not dangerous – japor only grows in desert rains, you know," he said. "It's rare on Tatooine, and precious, so it's good luck."

"Yeah," Han agreed – he'd spent enough time in the cantinas on the desert planet to know, and even some of the Hutts had been reverent of japor – reverent here meaning they paid dearly for it.

Luke cleared his throat.

"When I was a little kid, all my toys were japor," he said. "Aunt Beru made sure of that, so," he shrugged. "I made that for Leia," he trailed off a bit. "I don't know if I should give it to her, now," he said. "Figured I'd ask you."

Han turned it over, looking at it with interest, tightness in his chest. He frowned, unsure what to think – currently, he had the few baby-related things they had been given stored in a drawer in the very bureau he was leaning against. He'd placed the arallutes in there, and the seeds Tavska had given Leia – not to hide them, but to keep them safe until Leia was ready for them.

He hadn't told her he was removing that stuff, but he had tucked it away, and she seemed tacitly grateful. He'd also tucked away a blanket Winter had bought them on an over-excited whim, and white knit booties that Ryoo Naberrie had sent – a traditional good luck gift, on Naboo – and had arrived yesterday. Ryoo had reached out to warn Han they were coming, and Han intercepted them before Leia saw them.

He weighed the teething toy in his hand.

"Well," he muttered. "'M keepin' some stuff, until some time's passed," he trailed off. "You want to give this to 'er yourself, I reckon?" he asked.

Luke nodded.

"I'd like to," he said quietly.

Han nodded, and handed it back – not for his drawer, then.

"Ask me in a couple months, okay?" he decided gruffly. "Things're still…raw."

Luke nodded fervently, tucking it back into his pocket.

"Sure, no problem," he said quickly.

Han nodded a few times himself, and then offered:

"Jobal called to talk to her," he said. "Leia called 'er back the other day, had some…woman-to-woman time," he muttered. He looked at Luke intently. "S'a good thing you stayed on her about gettin' to know them," he said firmly. "I think havin' that really helps."

Han sounded almost aggressive in his gratitude, and Luke shrugged, nodding eagerly – he was glad they had that, too; he was glad Jobal had been some kind of comfort to Leia in a time of need – a time when she clearly would have very much needed female support.

"They want to help in any way they can," Luke said seriously. "They don't want to bother her, obviously, but all of them have reached out to me."

Han nodded, and it sounded like he muttered a word of thanks –

"She'll probably call Ryoo," he said, almost to himself. "She liked what Ryoo had to say about havin' kids."

Luke nodded, folding his arms. After a long moment of silence, he asked –

"Her doubts are back?"

"Dunno, kid," Han said, rapidly and heavily – he did not divulge any information about the pessimistic conversation he and Leia had about it. He still wasn't sure she was far enough removed from the pain to think straight about it, and he very much wanted to avoid saying or doing anything that would make her think he resented her taking time, or having negative thoughts – and their appointment, they still had their appointment.

If it could give them some clarity, if everything could just be all _right_ –

Han sighed curtly, and shrugged. Luke nodded sagely as if he understood – the freshness of the loss was a factor, and it was no small feat, getting through pain like this.

"What about you?" Luke asked simply.

Han lifted his shoulders.

"Still want 'em," he said slowly. "Don't wanna see her go through _that_ again."

Luke tilted his head.

"'Course not," he said, shrugging. He hesitated. "I don't think she _will_ ," he said abruptly. "I think there was something – "

" _Luke_ ," Han growled, interrupting, his expression warning.

"No, I'm not gonna say something was _good_ about it," Luke said quickly. "I just…don't know if it was – senseless."

He left it at that, furrowing his brow – Leia had told him she knew this was going to happen; not when she found out she was pregnant, but after the fact, when all was said and done and experienced – _I saw this, Luke; don't you remember? I saw it. And I think – I think even I knew, somehow, this might be what it meant – I asked you, at Varykino, how to – how to analyze a vision - !_

Luke understood the irritating nature of hearing that something had happened for a reason, and in many, many cases, he was not a proponent of absolving tragedy for the sake of faith, but he felt – there was something _here_.

Some purpose.

Whether it was – Leia's experience in deep, healthily handled grief, or something yet to be discovered –

Han shrugged. He laughed a little harshly.

"It's rough," he said tensely. "She was so…happy."

"You both were," Luke said encouragingly.

Han nodded curtly, and his brother-in-law smiled sadly, glad to see Han could admit that in a straightforward manner. Han unfolded his arms and braced them back against the bureau again, tilting his head at Luke. He narrowed his eyes, and then tilted his chin, clearing his throat.

"Got you two talkin' again," he said gruffly. "This whole thing – you get Leia on board with your demon girlfriend?" he asked bluntly. "She didn't say much about it."

Luke gave him a withering look.

"Demon?" he quoted.

"Well," Han drawled, smirking a little, "that's what Leia called her once."

Luke scowled mildly.

"Me," Han said, tapping his chest, "I called her the mean-eyed redhead."

"I'll pretend you said green-eyed," Luke said loudly, narrowing his eyes. He frowned, thinking back, and hesitated – "She was – a bit more receptive," he allowed fairly.

Han tilted his head back and forth. His jaw tightened.

"Might just take a while," he said. "Y'know, might just need to meet her and go from there," he added frankly.

"Maybe," Luke said, sighing.

Han shot him a look.

"You tell her about all this?" he asked sharply.

Luke was quiet, and finally he said, vaguely:

"I tell Mara everything. She repeats nothing."

Han grunted, a noncommittal, indecipherable noise. He figured that was fair. There was plenty of stuff Han relayed directly to Leia, even if he figured it was probably confidential or privileged – and Leia did the same to him. Someone's significant other was – always the exception to a secret.

"I want to meet her," Han said abruptly.

Luke arched his brows.

"You do?"

"Yeah," Han said, as if it were obvious. "'Course I wanna meet the woman who made you a reformed slut," he said, deadpan.

Luke rolled his eyes, and Han grinned.

"I don't have the same hang ups as Leia on some stuff," he said bluntly. He'd done some things from behind command center walls and filters, when he was at the Academy, that he didn't like to reflect on, and that he hadn't thought too much into at the time.

"You always align with Leia, though," Luke said hesitantly.

Han nodded, shrugging casually.

"Yeah, and I won't meet her until Leia's ready, or 'til Leia feels comfortable with it, even if she doesn't wanna meet her yet," he explained slowly. He shrugged again. "I can defend her side, and uh, kind of, get it, without thinkin' the same. Most times."

Luke tilted his head, nodding thoughtfully.

"Interesting," he said. "Okay. Mara thinks you're boring, though," he warned, deadpan in his own right.

Han looked affronted. Luke nodded solemnly.

"She thinks all you care about is Leia."

Han looked even more affronted.

"She's got a _problem_ with me carin' about my _wife_?" he growled.

Luke laughed.

"She thinks you're whipped," he mocked.

Han looked at him very seriously, incredulous, and Luke felt sure he was about to protest – when he instead said -

"I _am_ whipped!" He jabbed his hand at Luke, narrowing his eyes knowingly. "You better get wise real fast, kid, 'cause if you love that woman, you're _fucked_ , your life belongs to her, and," he said pointedly, "it's gonna _shock_ you how much you want it to be like that. It's gonna blow your damn mind."

Luke, eyes wide, stared at Han for a moment, and then leaned back, arching a brow slowly.

"Yeah," he said slowly, thinking maybe he was starting to feel more and more like that, every moment he spent with Mara. "You're right."

"Damn straight," Han growled.

He stood there, nodding firmly to himself, and Luke grinned for a moment, looking around the cabin. He noticed the modified bunk, and his grin faded to a small, sadder smile, quietly wishing Han and Leia hadn't been through this – Han and Leia had been through too much already.

He didn't need to ask about the modifications; he understood them without clarification. He looked at it for a while, his head tilted, comically wondering if Han ever, ever imagined modifying his precious, fixer-upper of a ship to be safe for a baby – and when he looked up, Han was staring at him, watching him study the little bunk.

Instead of referencing it, Luke changed the subject – normal conversation was just as important, in terms of re-orienting oneself after a tragedy, as confronting the root of the grief was.

"So," he said curtly. "You think you're gonna re-up your commission, come next year?"

Han looked sheepish. He hesitated a little, and shrugged, shaking his head.

"Nah," he said grudgingly. "Don't think so."

"Me neither," Luke confided, with a wince. "I'm…gonna fully focus on the Jedi Order," he said.

Han nodded, and cocked a brow.

"Who's tellin' Leia we're both leavin'?" he joked.

"Uh, _you_ ," Luke said immediately, giving him an incredulous look.

Han glared at him. Luke shrugged, miming washing his hands of it – Han had plenty of ways he could ease the blow, since they both expected her to be a little nettled they were detaching from the New Republic machine – Luke did _not_ have the same ways of soothing her, and did _not_ want them – at all.

"What're _you_ gonna do?" Luke asked, with interest.

Han gave a groan that sounded half like a whine, and threw his head back.

"She's gonna ask me that, isn't she?" he muttered – it was only fair, and he had no clue what to say. He frowned. "See, I was _gonna_ have a reason to be home for a while," he muttered, trailing off.

Luke tilted is head.

"You wanted to…stay home with the baby?"

Han tilted is head back and forth.

"Was plannin' on learnin how to take care of it first," he said dryly, arching a brow. "Leia and I were both gonna take leave at first, but not all of it," he trailed off again – they were allotted up to a year, paid, under Coruscant standards, but almost no one utilized that extent of time – at least, not all at once; most parents broke it up.

Han waved his hand.

"Then I was just gonna…not…go…back," he muttered sheepishly.

Luke snorted; Han shrugged. He frowned, shaking his head.

"I gotta figure that out," he muttered.

"What'd you want to do when you were a kid?" Luke asked, cocking his head with interest.

"Fly," Han answered promptly.

He gestured around; he'd clearly done that.

Luke folded his arms, shrugging a little.

"You'll figure it out," he said. "Money's not an issue."

Han grunted. He knew that – but he didn't want to do nothing; he was used to work, he liked some aspects of what he did – he hadn't spent enough time thinking about it. As usual, the idea of playing it all by ear resonated with him more than anything – and there was more time to justify that now, since there was no immediate need for stability of the – paternal sense.

Luke unfolded his arms and went to straighten his tunic and his robe, tucking the teething tool deeper into his pocket to keep for later – he felt better, talking to Han; he felt like things were going as well as they could be – on the right track. Across from him, Han took a deep breath, and frowned, looking over at Luke.

"She's got that appointment tomorrow," he said gruffly, and shrugged. "Figure…we'll go from there."

Luke looked at him for a long time, and then straightened his shoulders and walked over to him. He hesitated, not entirely sure how Han would respond, and then leaned forward and gave him a firm, strong hug, nothing too intimate, but fraternal, and supportive, all the same.

Han responded with one arm, but no resistance or animosity. Luke drew back, and squeezed his arm.

"Good luck," he said sincerely.

Han reached up and ruffled Luke's hair, like he might have done to a kid brother, if he had one – like he did to Chewbacca, sometimes, when the Wookiee was in need of reassurance.

"Thanks, kid," he said hoarsely.

Luke stepped back, and Han lifted his arm, rubbing his wrist across his forehead – they stood in silence for a little while, but Luke – Luke had a feeling that things were going to go well for Han and Leia; he had a feeling that they were going to survive this more unscathed than they thought.

* * *

The walls of Doctor Arksiah Mellis' office were papered in a neutral, soothing lavender, trimmed in white, and artfully decorated with artistically abstract oil-and-water paintings of flowers – abstract, because Leia wasn't sure they could explicitly be called _flowers_ , and her suspicions were confirmed the first time Han laid eyes on them, poked her ribs, and snorted under his breath – _know what else those look like?_ – which prompted Leia to snap at him to behave himself, while quietly agreeing that Dr. Mellis clearly wanted to make the central theme of her profession clear.

Leia thought the office was lovely, for the most part; despite the fact that it was a place where she'd had a handful of nerve-wracking discussions – first, the initial ones, outlining what had happened to her on the Death Star, why she had concerns, then the conversations that analyzed her tests – and now this, this –

She was unsure what this was yet, and so she was pacing, ever so slightly; pacing, then coming to stop in front of various subtly metaphorical flower paintings, her lips pursed lightly, brow furrowed – despite having slept understandably poorly last night, she felt alert, and hyper vigilant.

She was acutely aware of Han's eyes following her lazily around the room – he seemed better at ease, but he had a little more confidence than she did; Han seemed to really – more wholly believe that this was just an inconsequential thing that had happened to them – ahh, not inconsequential in that it didn't matter, but inconsequential in that he didn't seem to think it indicated some catastrophic overall problem.

 _There's no reason to think this is the end –_

 _Reason – is hard to grasp, right now, Han._

She knew he understood that she was struggling to cope on an emotional level, which impeded her better angels in comforting her logically. She also understood that he wasn't having the same problem, at least not with the same depth, and she didn't fault him for that.

She hoped – that this appointment could give them some insight, some better way to move forward with each other, and some, some peace of mind, for her. She hoped that was what they were in for – she _had_ hope, she just -

It was like she had told Han, on Corellia; the less hope she had, the easier it was to be let down.

"Sweetheart," Han drawled. "If you keep lookin' at those paintings, 'M gonna get jealous," he teased.

Leia's brushed her fingers against her lips, tilting her head, smiling a little. She turned away from the one she'd been aimlessly staring at, and began to pace – over to Dr. Mellis' display shelves, which were full of little holos neatly presenting the progression of pregnancy. Leia bit down on the edge of her thumb and looked at those, narrowing her eyes hesitantly at one labeled neatly at – _twenty weeks_ – her eyes shifted back to the one before – _fourteen weeks_ – and then lingered, somewhere in the middle.

Somewhere, in the middle; _there_. Fifteen or sixteen –

"Leia," Han said softly. "Sit down, huh?" he coaxed gently – it made _him_ nervous to see her so anxious, and it provoked a tight ache in his chest. Regardless of how much calm he had tried to project over the past week as they prepared for this appointment, the worry crept in, and that worry was accomplished by a slight, irrational irritation at Dr. Mellis – _what_ was taking her so long, and if she _dared_ tell Leia something Leia didn't want to hear –

Folding her arms tightly across her chest, Leia turned on her heel and paced along the wall again, her eyes flicking over flower motifs. She looked over at him, managed a small tight smile, and then she paced over to the empty chair placed in front of Dr. Mellis' empty desk.

Leia sat tensely on the edge of the chair, unfolding her arms and clasping her hands neatly in her lap.

His eyes running over the obvious stiffness in her spine, Han set his shoulders back, trying to think of a way to distract her, ease her stress in any way he could. The physical exam aspect of this appointment had already been an ordeal – uncomfortable, too evocative of what had happened a few weeks ago – Han swallowed hard, summoning some roguish charm.

"Come sit over here," Han suggested playfully, rubbing his hand on his thigh.

Leia shot him a withering look.

"We are in public," she hissed.

Han turned and looked incredulously at the closed office door, and then gave an exaggerated performance as he looked around the room, empty but for the two of them. He looked back at her, and she flushed, shaking her head.

"That's - wildly unprofessional," she retorted stubbornly.

Han sat back, resting his hand on the arm of the chair and looking at her calmly.

"S'gonna be okay, Sweetheart," he said. "Try to relax."

Leia closed her eyes and bowed her head a little. She breathed out slowly. She nodded, and looked back at him.

"Distract me."

"Small talk?"

"Mm, yes," she muttered, "just how I like it."

Han grinned. He thought about it a moment, letting them sit in silence, and then frowned, at a loss - how could he - well, he was pretty on edge, too, so –

"Think I'm gonna quit the military," he blurted.

Leia tilted her head, her expression blank as she stared at him. Very subtly, her eyes narrowed, and she parted her lips.

"Han," she said crisply. "That is not ' _small'_ talk."

He grimaced.

"Yeah, sorry. I panicked."

That brought a smile to her face, and she began to shake her head a little, incredulous – this was the first she had heard of any serious inclination on Han's part to re-evaluate his career, and though she marveled at him for truly thinking now was a good time to bring it up – it cleared her mind of the unbelievable strain for a moment, and she pursed her lips.

"You're going to quit?" she asked, taking a steadying breath. "Or finish your commission and retire?"

She hoped the question didn't sound patronizing, or judgmental; she was genuinely curious, and to placate him in his concern for her, she did try to seize on to a different topic of conversation, rather than waiting here, her heart slamming painfully against her ribs, thinking about her baby, and her body, and all the things that could go wrong.

Han shrugged, frowning a little.

"'M not gonna just _quit_ ," he said, amending his statement a little.

Leia nodded.

She turned towards him, her knees pressed together, her head tilted – she pursed her lips.

"What would you do - ?" she asked, almost as Han shrugged and said – "Dunno what else I'd do – " skeptically, and both of them broke off at the sound of the door clicking open behind them.

Dr. Mellis' entrance was almost comically timed; cutting them both off and immediately redirecting their attentions back to the reason they were holed up in this office to begin with.

She smiled at them, closing her door snugly again and breezing over to her desk, a bundle of holo docs pressed against a data pad and tucked under her arm. Before she took a seat, she placed the documents on her desk, and shrugged off the customary white coat of her profession, hanging it casually on a hook near her display case.

"Leia," she said warmly, stepping closer – she extended her hand, and clasped one of Leia's in both of hers, bending down to brush her lips gently against Leia's cheek.

She squeezed her hand comfortingly, and straightened up, releasing it, and nodding to Han pleasantly as well.

"Han," she said. "I am sorry to keep the two of you waiting," she said sincerely, returning to her desk and taking a seat comfortably. "I chose to handle a call from an anxious mother before speaking with you, in hopes that we won't have any interruptions," she explained.

Leia nodded.

She set her shoulders back stiffly, and twisted her hands together in her lap, compressing her lips. Han watched her profile, noticing the paleness that crept into her cheeks, and he sat forward in his chair, reaching under it and taking one of the legs in his hand. He scooted closer to her, so he could reach out and run his knuckles lightly over her shoulder.

She turned her head a little, her lips pursing appreciatively, and gave a small smile to acknowledge the gesture.

Dr. Mellis gathered some of the things on her desk, and breathed out slowly, spreading her hands out and looking up at Leia calmly, her intelligent, bright eyes full of optimism – Leia looked back at her, apprehensive, unable to determine if that was – good news, or Dr. Mellis' way of appearing calm –

"Leia," Dr. Mellis said again, her tone soft, and conciliatory. "I am so very sorry you experienced this," she said quietly, sympathetic and genuine. "I am sure you have had statistics quoted at you about the prevalence of this sort of thing, and I am also sure that does nothing at all to make you feel the slightest bit better."

Han continued to run his hand up and down her arm, silently watching Dr. Mellis.

Leia gave a small, curt nod.

"I don't want to offer you any platitudes, but I do want to extend my apologies for not listening closer to your concerns, and valuing your instincts," Dr. Mellis went on. "I lack experience in your specific power, and I fell back on my own experience with nervous first-time mothers. I was wrong."

Leia blinked, and when Han turned to look at her, he could tell she was taken aback. She stared at the doctor for a moment, and then she swallowed hard, tilting her head.

"Would you have been able to alter it?" she asked quietly.

She herself didn't think Dr. Mellis had been dismissive of her concerns; Dr. Mellis had encouraged Leia to see an emergency medic if she was truly concerned, and Leia had taken that to heart – she didn't feel as if Dr. Mellis had obstructed her care in anyway.

Dr. Mellis shook her head.

"No, I am afraid not," she said honestly.

Leia nodded.

"Then let it be," she murmured.

Dr. Mellis nodded, but held up her hand flat, in a sign of peace.

"I still accept responsibility for speaking with you in a way that may have leveraged your instincts against my experience," she said. "That wasn't fair. I _do_ know what I am doing," she said confidently, "but you know yourself, too, and even if there was little I could do in terms of prevention at the time," she bowed her head apologetically, "better emotional preparation for you may have softened the blow – for you too, Han," she said earnestly. "I am sorry."

Han blinked. His hand paused on Leia's arm.

"Uh," he grunted. "S'okay," he said slowly – he didn't think anything would have softened the blow, for him or for Leia, but – he smiled at her a little all the same, tiredly grateful; there was a reason Leia had settled so firmly on Dr. Mellis, and Han bitterly wished she'd been there during the worst of Leia's miscarriage, so she wouldn't have been in the hands of the bastard who had wanted to –

"And," Dr. Mellis said crisply, "I've spoken to the head of emergency regarding the medic who was on duty at the time of your intake."

She sat back, and said little else, her expression firm. Leia simply gave another nod – she herself hadn't said a word, too preoccupied with other things, but both Han and Bail had leveled such scathing complaints that – she didn't bother to add her own.

"Good," Han said aloud, his eyes narrowing. "That guy wanted to drug her, and work on her," he reiterated. "With _out_ her consent."

Dr. Mellis nodded. She reached out and tapped a file.

"I've studied the report," she said dryly. "Though I would like to think he had good intentions, there is no room in medicine for ignorance of a patient's wishes," she said simply. "I know that procedure was difficult for you, Leia," she added. "Please know that – it was safest, in the end. It did give us some insights," she added.

Leia lifted her chin – she didn't speak to the procedure, just noted Dr. Mellis words with an understanding look, and then took a deep breath, flexing her fingers in her lap. She lifted one arm to rest it on the side of the chair, and Han's hand crept down her shoulder to her elbow, and then her wrist, slowly entwining his fingers with hers.

"Insights?" Leia asked, the word barely audible.

Han pressed his palm against hers, and looked warily at Dr. Mellis, his expression guarded – he studied her intently, trying to read her face – and the doctor nodded, her eyes brightening somewhat as she sat forward – businesslike, and invigorated.

"You should know immediately that you are medically cleared today - you're healing as you should, there appear to be no irregularities," she listed. "Hormone levels, blood work – everything is normal," she said. "If you still experience any discomfort in your sex lives," Dr. Mellis shrugged, matter-of-fact: "use lube."

Han glanced at Leia, just for the amusement of watching her face turn a little pink, and she poked at his palm with her fingers, annoyed at his scrutiny. He grinned a little, and turned back to the doctor, clearing his throat.

"You find anythin', Doc?" he asked gruffly, wasting no time. He nodded his head at Leia. "Don't drag it out," he muttered, giving a small grimace at the thought.

Dr. Mellis folded her hands, sighing, and lifted her shoulders.

"You know, the conversation I have with couples most often is generic, and bewildering. It doesn't answer question, and it leaves them feeling anxious, and confused," she explained. "More often than not, miscarriages just happen." She shrugged. "They just _happen_. There's no rhyme or reason; it just wasn't meant to be."

Leia nodded, her hand pressing into Han's. Dr. Mellis sat up a little, tapping her finger on one of her files.

"It is actually refreshing," she said, glancing down attentively, "to be able to give you two a concrete answer about what happened."

She pulled some documents in front of her, and Leia looked up sharply, her face losing its colour again – Han sensed her concerns immediately; _something must be wrong, something's wrong, they found something wrong – no –_

"There's a problem," Leia said quietly, her words dully. "With me."

Dr. Mellis looked at her intently, her lips compressed in a gentle, calming smile.

"No, Leia, there is not," she said, immediate, and firm – she didn't make Leia wait, or guess; she certainly didn't mince words. "We have identified a problem, and we can give you answers. There _is_ an issue," she said, "but it is something we can correct."

Leia sat back, and Dr. Mellis cleared her throat. She studied her files for a moment, an then looked up, holding both of their gazes separately for a moment, and then – she turned a little to her left, settling on Han.

"The RH factor in your blood is different from Leia's," she said simply.

Han looked at her blankly, and then turned to look at Leia. She tilted her head, a look of quiet uncertainty on her face, and gazed back at him for a moment before looking over to Dr. Mellis. The doctor turned the document in her hands around, showing them figures and numbers, statistical charts –

"Leia, you have heavily RH negative blood," she explained clearly, "it's relatively rare, but I've had my apprentice do some research, and it seems to be highly prevalent in Force sensitive beings," she said. She pointed to another side of the chart. "Han, like most humans, your blood is RH positive – this is just an antigen in blood," she said bluntly, "it isn't harmful – no disease, nothing such as that."

Dr. Mellis laid that chart down, and pointed at Leia.

"Your brother's is negative, as well," she said. "I see he has the same concentration as you – he gave you a blood transfusion?"

Leia compressed her lips, and nodded – she hadn't lost much, in the miscarriage, but Luke was always quick to offer it, just in case – he was –

"He's," Leia said huskily, "Ah, he's one of the only people who can donate to me."

Dr. Mellis nodded.

"Yes, there's another enzyme in your blood that's common in Force sensitive beings, as well, but that one has no bearing here," she said briskly. She folded her hands, one finger pointed up, caught up in explaining. "In most circumstances, differing RH factors are not a problem in a first pregnancy, and with the access we have to testing, we would have discovered the issue anyway, and prevented it from being an issue in any subsequent pregnancies – "

"Okay," Han interrupted, a little on edge. "But – what's the problem? What's wrong with my blood?" he asked tensely.

Leia turned towards him a little; her lips pursed, and reached out to run her hand over his knee soothingly. He quieted a little, but leaned forward, his hand slipping out of hers as he waited, his jaw set.

"Well, as I said, the RH factor is not anything _wrong_ ," Dr. Mellis said. "I delayed Leia's amnio because it can carry small risks, and I did not see her pregnancy as high risk, thus we didn't determine the RH issue – but again, it wouldn't have been a problem under normal circumstances, not in the first pregnancy."

"What – " Han started harshly, and Leia squeezed his knee, quieting him.

She gave him a moment to bow his head, and take a deep breath, and then she cleared her throat, taking her own deep breath.

"What about my circumstances were," she paused, the word difficult for her to get out – "abnormal?"

Dr. Mellis sighed.

"You have an aggressive immune system," she said gently. "Another thing I found is common with Force sensitive beings – from what I can deduce, reading your medical records – you are rarely sick?"

Leia heisted, and swallowed hard. She nodded.

"You recover from injuries relatively quickly, comparable to others?" Dr. Mellis pressed.

Leia again nodded – even in her weeks of medical attention after the Death Star, one or two of the droids had remarked upon her pronouncedly quicker recovery.

Dr. Mellis nodded, and picked up her next chart.

"Your vigilant immune system compounded the risk here," she said. "Issue occurs when your blood blends with the baby's blood during pregnancy, which usually provokes no adverse reaction until the second time around, but here," she pointed to some more stats that Leia did not focus on, "your immune system resisted immediately, and that," Dr. Mellis took a deep breath, and turned back to Han kindly, "was likely due to the incredible concentration of carbon particles in _your_ blood, which have fused to your blood cells."

Han sat back rigidly, an ache starting in his temple – carbon particles; blood – RH factor – this whole – this whole revelation screamed – that he was the problem – it was _him_ –

"Now I know – you had an uncommonly prolonged exposure to carbon smoke and carbon compounds, correct?"

Han stared at her, until Leia cleared her throat softly.

"He did, yes," she said.

"That's a nice way to put it," Han said tightly, snapping to attention. "I had carbon poisoning," he said gruffly.

Dr. Mellis nodded. She laid down her file, and leaned back, folding her arms.

"I doubt you need me to tell you that what you survived, in terms of that incident, is somewhat of a medical marvel," she said casually.

Han's jaw tightened, he grimaced.

"You appeared to suffer no long term complications, am I right?"

Han swallowed hard.

"Bad vision, for a coupla days," he said stiffly. "Nausea, problems breathin' oxygen."

Dr. Mellis hesitated a moment, considering him thoughtfully.

"Understandably, the less advanced medical centers you had access to with the Rebellion chalked your recovery up to a miracle – a strong constitution," she said. A small, wry smile touched her lips. "Much as a I hate to deconstruct any notions of extreme masculinity you may hold, what has really been the case is that the prolonged exposure infected your bone marrow, which produces your blood," she explained.

Leia made a soft, strangled noise and leaned forward, covering her mouth. Dr. Mellis sat forward again, holding her hands up gently.

"He's okay," she said. "All I mean to say here is that Han's body is acclimated to dangerous levels of carbon, because it's incrementally becoming more and more present in his blood, as the marrow contaminates it more," she held up her hands, to mimic a scale, "it allowed for a quick recovery from carbon poisoning, but a slow process over all."

Leia ran her hands back over her face, her chest aching – she was distracted, for a moment, from the idea of her blood being somehow incompatible with Han's – which was ironic in the worst of ways, considering the differences in their social class – and acutely absorbed in the information she was being given.

She breathed out slowly, and hugged her abdomen, her lashes trembling.

"This marrow problem," she said slowly. "It's killing him?"

Han looked taken aback, skeptical.

"It ain't killin' me," he said, rolling his eyes. "'M fine, Leia, I never even feel sick. I – hell, I passed my last military physical," he broke off, giving a sharp glare to the doctor. "What're you talkin' about? You're scarin' her."

"I don't mean to," Dr. Mellis placated. She looked at Leia kindly. "I would not go as far as saying this is killing him," she said. "However, it is progressing towards what could be a serious problem – if I can try to explain, Han," she turned to him, and took a deep breath.

She inclined her head.

"Have you ever had…Selpox?" she chose flippantly.

Han shrugged tensely. He nodded once – short for Selonian Pox, it was a common illness on Corellia; pretty much everyone got it, and the vax against it was functionally useless.

"You have one case; you didn't get it again," Dr. Mellis illustrated. Han nodded, and she went on. "Your blood produced antibodies to it, so if the virus ever infected you again, you were protected. Likewise, your blood produced antibodies to attempt to fend off the overwhelming influx of carbon – but your marrow is replenishing the carbon, because it was contaminated to a toxic level. Essentially, you're maintaining a homeostatic balance, but if that balances tips, you will become very ill, and your marrow could be permanently damaged."

Leia caught her breath, turning to take his hand. She swallowed hard, her vision blurry for a moment – and would they ever have – found out, if –

"The high concentration of carbon in your cells, in addition to the RH factor incompatibility, was damaging to Leia's immune system – and, from what I can tell," she paused, her face grave, "caused some base cellular problems with the fetus after conception. Leia's body knows all that carbon is not supposed to be there."

 _Distress_ , Leia thought, remembering the overwhelming feeling she'd felt as the days rushed past, and she felt sicker – _distress_.

She closed her eyes tightly, and turned towards Han, breathing out. She reached for both of his hands with both of hers – and she didn't care ff Dr. Mellis saw her stress, or the beginnings of tears; this place was safe, and Dr. Mellis was a trusted confidant.

Han's hands were stiff in her grip, and he looked at the doctor tightly, his jaw aching as he held it closed. He unstuck it, finally, his mouth dry.

"So," he said, more harshly than he meant to. "It's my fault."

Leia looked up at him, her brow furrowing.

"No," Dr. Mellis said simply. "There is not room to be assigning blame, or speaking of fault, in things like this," she said. "My main concern right now is ensuring you get attention," she said. "Han, you need a few rounds of bacta therapy for your marrow. That will clear up the carbon issue."

Leia, her head spinning, stood up, pacing a little. She felt restless, and edgy – her spirits rose, thinking – _answers, answers; answers_ she needed – and then sank, worrying about Han – _Sith, he's been – I could have lost him, if we hadn't known –_

She came to stand behind him, her hands coming down tenderly on his shoulders, beginning to rub. Han sat back stiffly, and then leaned into her, his expression stony, and fixed on the doctor.

"You figured all this out from…some…tissue tests?" he asked, getting the words out with difficulty. He didn't want anything he said to upset Leia, or jar her memory – he swallowed hard. "How come no one else – "

"The homeostatic baseline," Dr. Mellis said softly. "Military physicals only run standards tests, to ping abnormalities. Since," she paused, curious, and Leia supplied her with the place of incident – "Bespin," Dr. Mellis repeated, "your baseline has read as _normal_ for carbon particles."

"You got that from the," Han faltered again, his expression frustrated, helpless.

"Fetal tissue," Dr. Mellis said, inclining her head – she said it gently, clearly understanding his hesitation, but without flinching – as if silently assuring him: _this is a doctor's office, Han, and Leia can handle it._ "Yes," she affirmed softly. "Your blood, and your cells, were there, too, Han."

Han fell silent, his jaw clenched so tightly it was aching – _yeah, part of me and Leia; 'cept the parts of me poisoned her_ – so no one caught this, and because of it, she'd lost – he'd put her through–

He turned his face stubbornly to the side, and Leia's hand brushed against his neck comfortingly, her eyes focused on him gently for a moment. She stroked her knuckles against his skin, and swallowed hard, choosing to save a deeper conversation for later.

"Bacta treatment is all he needs?" she asked softly.

Dr. Mellis nodded encouragingly.

"Well, deep tissue, chemo-bacta," she amended, her expression still bright. "It is a simple procedure, and a very harmless one at that," she said. "Cleaning marrow is a surprisingly easy fix, these days."

Han sat forward tensely, and Leia's hands fell to his back, resting there gently.

"What about this RH shit?" he asked roughly.

Leia pressed her hand against his back, her brow furrowing.

"Han," she reprimanded softly, but Dr. Mellis seemed unfazed.

"It won't be an issue," she said kindly. "Once your blood is clear of the carbon, that toxicity will no longer be a risk, or there to exacerbate the RH risk," she said. "And in any case, RH incompatibility is fixed with a vax."

She lifted her head, and nodded at Leia, saying simply –

"When you're ready to get pregnant again, we'll vax you to engender synthetic protection."

She paused, a funny look on her face.

"I – I need to be vaccinated against Han?" she asked faintly.

She felt the incredibly absurd, inappropriate urge to laugh – how many times had commentaries, had the Elders, had the galaxy, commented on Leia and Han's different backgrounds, their different blood – and now this, this was a physical truth; _their blood didn't mix._

Apparently giving in to the same odd urge she had, Han gave a derisive snort, a gruff laugh that had no real mirth in it. He ran his hands over his face tightly, his knuckles white, and Leia's stomach twisted – anxiety over him, how he was handling this – and yet, she felt pressure slough off her shoulders, and almost – almost wanted to smile.

She swallowed hard, gripping Han's shirt.

"When I'm – when I'm," she started, thinking of the words – _ready to get pregnant again._ "I can?" she asked, hesitating. "I can get … I can have a baby?" She ran her hands over Han's shoulders. "We can?"

Dr. Mellis folded her hands, and smiled warmly at Leia.

"You _can_ ," she agreed. "I have no qualms about encouraging you to try again," she said, "and you try when you're _ready_ ," she added firmly. "That may not be for a little while. Leia," she paused, "I can't promise you that you'll never have another miscarriage. The fact still remains that they _happen_. They just do. Most of the time, I can't give couples answers this concrete," she repeated. "You try to move forward, and you see what happens," she advised.

She tilted her head.

"If it were to happen again, we might re-evaluate some things," she said gently, "but this," she tapped her finger on the items on her desk, "this particular snag is reparable. It will not reoccur."

Leia's hands gripped Han's shoulders so tightly that he winced a little, sitting back – abruptly reminded she was there; yanked out of his own reverie. Leia struggled for a moment – daunted, as always, by the prospect of uncertainty – _can't promise you it won't happen again – if it does happen again –_ but to know that – it wasn't something wrong with her, something indefinable; that the problem was something that could be fixed –

\- and to find out that Han was safer, he was safer, because of this – it was a strange, conflicted feeling, but she handled it as gracefully as she could, standing there behind him; she leaned down to kiss his temple, and then retreated to her seat, moving it closer to his.

She took his hand, and caught his eye, biting her lip – she smiled, shakily, but a little relieved, and Han was – so relieved, for a moment, to see her smile, to know her mind was eased a little, her suffering alleviated, that he smiled, too; for a moment, he put aside the maelstrom of emotions that were plaguing him, and he clutched her hand in return, and smiled.

She moved her chair a little closer, and pulled his arm into her lap – she pressed her lips together, cognizant of the fact that it was going to take her a while to process all of this, really process it, but trying to embrace the moment a little, the hope if it – Han had been right, maybe this wasn't – the end of the world, and when she had moments of bliss right now, she tried to cling to them, because they often also reminded her that she was still prone to intense grief.

Han lifted his head, sitting back heavily. He turned to her and mustered a serene smirk, his posture full of its usual charm –

"You see, Sweetheart?" he offered soothingly. "Nothin' wrong with you."

She accepted a kiss on the forehead from him, and noticed how it lingered, how his eyes seemed to flick down a little, his jaw tighter – she laced her fingers into his more tightly, providing silent comfort – _it will be okay, Han_ – _you'll be okay._

"If you'd like," Dr. Mellis began gently. "We can discuss both a consult appointment for Han – my office can handle it, if we bundle it under a fertility procedure – no need for you to search for an additional doctor," Leia felt relief at Dr. Mellis' offer there – she must know how difficult it was for people of Leia's status and fame to find loyal, circumspect service in _any_ industry – "and, Leia, some contraception options," she explained.

Leia had mentioned she wanted something to rely on again - and she still did, even the optimism of these revelations did not immediately stoke in her a desire to run home and try to get pregnant. She was still fragile, still had other concerns – Han, for one; Han –

She gave a little nod to Dr. Mellis, and the doctor beamed, pulling up her data pad to begin going over some more technical specifics.

Leia pulled Han's hand up to her lips, kissing his knuckles, and then the pulse point on his wrist, pressing it against her cheek lightly. He turned his head to look at her, and mustered another slow, easy smirk to bolster the relief she felt - the relief he wanted her to feel – and he felt it too; he felt good for her, and he felt good, in some ways, himself, to have answers but –

\- the sudden guilt was bone-crushing, unbearable, and it choked him; it felt suffocating – Leia didn't seem to be looking at him with any accusation, anything remotely definable as hurt or betrayal, and yet he felt like he'd – failed her, done her wrong he -

He swallowed hard, staring at her even as she turned back to the doctor and listened to her calm explanations, and Han, in turn, pulled her hand to his mouth, and pressed his lips against hit, his throat tightening painfully – it wasn't the unforeseen threat to his health that left him gutted, but the idea that something in his blood, some part of him, had _hurt_ her.

* * *

In the quiet, early hours of the morning following her appointment, Leia woke up slowly, lulled peacefully out of sleep by groggy wakefulness that crept over her naturally. Her lashes fluttered, blinked open to find faded yellow sunlight peeking around the thick curtains around the bedroom windows - and then she closed them again lightly, taking a moment to appreciate how rested she felt. It had been - such a relief of a night; she had felt lighter, more at ease, more comfortable in sadness, because some of the piercing anxiety was lifted - and to sleep undisturbed was a blessing, particularly on the eve of a day off from work. She had arranged her appointment specifically so that it preceded a non-work day, on the off chance they received bad news and she needed time to recoup - but as that hadn't been the case, she could spend this whole day ahead with Han, on a better note.

Thinking of him, she rolled over sleepily, her arm reaching out a little, feeling for his hip or his arm - coming up short, her eyes opened slightly, lips pursed; Han was never far, she never had to really reach; he was always _right there_. If he wasn't asleep with his head tucked against her shoulder or the back of her neck, he stayed close; she had never quite figured out if it was for her comfort, or for his own. She felt an immediate surge of disappointment when she found his side of the bed empty, sheets all tangled - one of his pillows appeared to be on the floor, even - she'd been thinking they could spend some time lingering in bed this morning. She was feeling more - _up to it_ , so to speak, and she _wanted_ him.

She brushed her hand over his empty spot, her lips turning down. Vaguely, it occurred to her he had a rougher night; he had taken a while to settle down, to stop tossing and turning; even in the depths of her better sleep, she knew that - she often found herself eerily attuned to him even when she wasn't actively focusing on him. She remembered, without knowing, somehow, that he'd had a bad night, and she turned onto her back, staring up at the canopy fabric thoughtfully, her lips pursed.

He had seemed distracted last night, on edge - and she thought, with a sinking feeling, he was more bothered by implications that his health was in bad form than he let on. Han was so, so - seemingly invincible, when he was injured, he was more prone to showing off his wounds than nursing them. This wasn't something he could flaunt, it was an internal affliction, and it had to be - haunting him, nagging at him like reminders of mortality often did. Leia brushed a hand over her forehead, thinking critically - and turned her head to the side.

"Han?" she called quietly, on the off-chance he was in the 'fresher.

She sat up, tucking the sheets around her torso, and waiting, thoughtful. Her eyes were drawn to Zozy, snuggled up at the foot of the bed, sleeping blithely, his tongue poking out of his snout. She burst into a grin - he was such a sleepy little thing, in the mornings - and then her smile faded, as she looked around still, wondering where Han was. She figured there was a chance he'd risen from a fitful night and headed down to the _Falcon_ to clear his head, but that assumption didn't necessarily fit him, at the moment. He was still too wary of her emotional state to go off disappearing. She tilted her head from side to side, loosening the muscles in her neck, and compressed her lips. She shrugged away the sheets, and got up, plucking her robe from its makeshift hook on one of the bed posts, and slipping her feet into a pair of warm moccasins.

Zozy peeked at her, his tail perking up, and Leia shook her head, bending down to kiss him between his soft, feathery ears. She gave him a mildly stern look, shushed him to indicate he ought to stay asleep, and left him with another affectionately little kiss. Yawning, she tied the robe loosely, tucked her hands into the blowzy pockets, and began a laid back search, blinking steadily into a more alert state as she went.

She noticed the balcony door was open as she came into the sitting room, and nodded at it, keying in on a probable location. She left it for a moment, shuffling into the kitchen to set some kaffe brewing in its decanter - dark, rural blend, Han's go-to wake-up call. When the bitter-fresh scent started to waft around the kitchen as it should, to signal the start of a day, she reached up to push her hair back, and made her way through the sitting room to the balcony doors, poking her head out to see - and there she found him, sitting in one of the modular, wire-frame patio chairs, his back against the industrial siding of the apartment, eyes fixed on the steady flow of early morning traffic.

She stood there a moment, running her fingers over the loose knot she'd tied into the strings of her robe. He was clearly irked - his jaw had that self-preserving, angry tenseness to it - and she thought of her instinctive knowledge that he'd slept badly, restlessly; she didn't know Han to have bad nights very often - at least, not bad nights specific to him; he was always up with _her_ \- tired as a result of that.

Leia cleared her throat softly, and he startled, sitting up straight. He looked at her, blinked warily, and then took a deep breath, shaking his head.

"Go back to bed," he said roughly - and she could tell, from the way he instantly winced, that he hadn't meant to sound so harsh. Understanding that, she tried not to react to it, even though his tone was a shock that scraped at her core, made her stomach drop. She folded her arms tightly across herself, a little soft armor, and leaned against the open door, looking at him worriedly.

"Han?" she asked - just his name, soft and inquiring, and unhurried - asking him if he was okay, and simultaneously letting him know that she _knew_ he wasn't, at all, if he was that brusque with her.

He shook his head again.

"I don't - want to - just give me a minute, Leia," he said tensely. "I don't want to," he broke off - _talk_ , he thought, and she knew what he was trying to say, having snapped the same words herself, so many times. "I'm fine," he said curtly.

She watched him for a moment without looking away, and then glanced down at her feet, tapping her bare toes against the patio floor. She took a quiet breath.

"Ah," she sighed mildly. "So, this is what it feels like."

Drawn in by that - as she'd expected he would be - he looked up, his gaze narrowing slightly. He gave her a curious look, and tilted his head in silent question, demanding clarification, and she went on, lifting one shoulder simply:

"This is what you feel like when I would...push you away," she explained carefully, "and - avoid talking to you?"

She held his gaze intently, pointedly, and Han looked back at her quietly, taking that in. Then, he laughed hoarsely, and hung his head a little, shrugging as if to concede the point.

"Yeah, it is," he agreed - all too familiar with what he'd probably just made her feel.

She smiled, and pushed away from the doorway. She crossed the balcony in graceful, unassuming strides, and sat down on his thigh, tucking her legs in between his - much like he'd suggested she do in the office yesterday. She rested her arm over his shoulders, and ran her fingers through the tangled hair at the nape of his neck, turning into him intently. She studied him, her mind working attentively, and he bowed his head as if to get away from her inspection, bringing one hand up to rub his brow jerkily. She put her other hand against his chest.

"What's wrong, Han?" she whispered gently. She pressed her lips against his temple in a soothing kiss. "Tell me, honey."

Leia's use of pet names - genuine ones, rather than affectionate nick names, like _hotshot -_ was so rare, that maybe that's what pulled it out of him, unlocked his jaw, so to speak - the thing that had been keeping him up all night rushed out, rough, and guilty:

"It's my _fault_ ," he mumbled, as if that were obvious. "It's my fault, Leia. I'm...I'm sorry."

Her hand still moved in his hair soothingly as she listened, hearing his words, but not really comprehending them - not immediately, not like he clearly thought she would - or _should_. She pursed her lips, smoothing out a wrinkle in the t-shirt he was wearing, and tilted her head wordlessly. Thinking over the last few days, she let her hand drift down his chest a little, choosing her words carefully. She should have realized he would be more shaken up about the issue with his blood - particularly since, if it hadn't been caught -

She sighed.

"You're going to be fine," she promised. "You had no way of -

He looked up and gave her kind of a hazy, consternated look, his brow knitting tensely. He gave one sharp shake of his head.

"'M not talkin' about me," he said. "I don't - yeah, they'll fix that, whatever," he said gruffly. "'M talkin' about," he broke off, looked down, gestured at her abdomen. " _You_ ," he said hoarsely. " _This_ , it was my fault, and I can't," he shook his head. "Can't stop thinkin' about it."

Leia's hand stilled in his hair, and she watched him for a moment, her lips parted - and then she closed her eyes very lightly, in quiet realization - _oh,_ she thought - _of course_. Her stomach flipped uncomfortably, and she lowered her forehead to the side of his head, resting there reflectively for a moment to gather her bearings. She should have realized he would fixate on that - he'd even said it in Dr. Mellis' office - _so, it's my fault? -_ she was just so caught up in her own overwhelming relief - and Han was so adamant that he didn't blame her, she hadn't considered how he was feeling now, regarding - the root of the problem.

It was him, but it wasn't -

"Han," she said gently, moving her hand in his hair again. She lifted her head. "Han," she called, moving her other hand up to his neck, and nudging his chin up so he'd look at her. She caught his eyes, and moved her head, deliberate and slow. "No," she said firmly.

Han pulled his head back a little frowning.

" _Yes_ , Leia," he retorted, bristling stubbornly. "I did this to you," he snapped. " _My_ blood, my," he waved his hand jerkily, his face flushing angrily. "It _hurt_ you. I made you lose a baby."

She dragged her thumb over his jaw.

"It's not your fault," she repeated. "It is _not_ your fault."

"It is! You heard her, there was nothin' the matter, 'cept your - system, tryin' to protect _you_ from me - "

"Han," she interrupted. "You told me over and over again how it isn't my fault," she said, her lashes trembling. "You've made me believe that. How can you turn around and place blame on yourself?" she pleaded. She shook her head. "Don't do that. I don't blame you." She stroked his jaw. "I can't blame you."

"How?" he demanded stiffly. "Why not?" His jaw hardened. "It was my bad blood - "

"You didn't know that," she soothed calmly, her torso pressing into his warmly.

Han quieted a little. Leia swallowed hard, running her hand from his forehead, back through his hair, exerting strength to try and keep him calm, try and convey to him how much - she meant what she was saying; how it had never crossed her mind, not once, to hold him responsible. She bit her lip softly, watching his face.

"If she had told me that I had a chemical imbalance that caused it, something they couldn't identify until I conceived, would you say it was my fault?"

Han shook his head violently.

"No," he retorted immediately.

Leia's hand paused, and she gave him a pointed look. He sat back hard, his shoulders hitting the apartment siding with a dull _thud,_ and reached out to place his hand on her hip, holding her steady on his lap.

"Yeah, Leia - I get it, I get what you're saying," he said hoarsely. "But - _fuck_ , I didn't even think about tests gettin' done for me!" he pushed back tightly, his eyes searching hers - almost as if he were eager to take some blame, as if he wanted her to yell at him. "You got all kinds of shit done, and I just assumed I was fine. You got...a bunch of needles, you _hate_ needles," he said huskily, trailing off. "That ain't right, is it? That's not fair...and look what happened."

She swallowed hard, tilting her head to the other side pensively. She looked up, out at the traffic, the rising, copper sun, and frowned - not in agreement, but in thought, deciding how best to respond to him. She just didn't think - he deserved to feel like this; she had been plenty preoccupied with her own fears, and while she had been told explicitly, by a medic, that the damage from the Death Star could affect her in multiple ways the rest of her life, Han had not been issued that same guidance: Han had been slapped with a clean bill of health and never thought twice about carbon again.

"I didn't think about it either," she murmured. She turned her head back to him slowly. "I didn't ask you to have anything done, even," she gave a small shrug, "but I know you _would_ have, Han," she added, thinking it would give him some peace of mind.

"Don't you think Dr. Mellis shoulda looked at me, too - "

Leia laughed a little hoarsely.

"She thought _I_ was being overly cautious." Leia brushed her knuckles against his jaw. "She knew about your exposure and didn't think anything of it, either."

Han let his head fall back against the brick, his expression miserable, skeptical. Leia moved closer, shifting her weight on his knee, and leaned in to kiss his brow again, and the corner of his mouth. She closed her eyes, pressing her lips together hard - her heart went out to him, but if he at least knew that...she was able to see some small bright spot in all of this now; they had an answer, and more than that, they could circumvent something unimaginable happening to Han down the road.

"I could have lost you if we didn't find out about the carbon toxicity," she said in a low, tight voice. "I know this is hard, Han," she murmured, "but if nothing else, we have a concrete answer, and I," she licked her lips, "I feel a little better knowing...there was a reason," she explained hoarsely, "and that reason means I don't lose you."

Han squeezed her hip and wrapped his arm around her, reaching up to cup her head in the back of his hand and pull her closer for a quick kiss.

"I'm glad you feel better, Sweetheart," he said sincerely. He kissed her again, and she felt the clench if his teeth against her lips as he went on - "but I don't feel good right now."

She nodded in understanding, running her hand over his shoulder in a gentle massage.

"That's okay," she assured him. "You don't have to."

She laid her head against his shoulder, staying put, thinking of ways to tell him it would get better - to turn back all the promises and nice things he'd always given her to make her feel better.

He said -

"I feel like I took somethin' away from you."

Leia's heart skipped a few beats, and she nodded tentatively.

"I feel like that, too," she answered, seizing on to a common thread, that relatable twist of guilt he'd been trying to assuage for the past few weeks and now, she was tasked with soothing. "And you tell me it's not my fault. You tell me to stop apologizing," she murmured, reaching up to touch his hair again. "It's the same, Han."

"S'easier to say, I guess," Han admitted grudgingly.

"It's always easier to say," she agreed huskily. "But you mean it, don't you? You _mean_ it, when you tell me you don't blame me."

"'Course," Han said firmly, clearing his throat. "'Course I mean it. More'n anything."

Leia pressed a kiss below his ear.

"I mean it, too," she promised.

He gave a small nod of understanding. He just felt so - powerless, like all the confidence had been sucked out of him. He was apprehensive about his own health, to a certain extent. He was anxious about what it meant for them in the future - he'd made an appointment to have the marrow treatment, but was there really any concrete way to tell it solved everything, other than trying again and - losing, again? He cut his eyes to the side narrowly, and then realized abruptly this was almost exactly how Leia felt, exactly how she'd tried to explain to him why she might not want to try again - and he realized with a jolt it was easier to tell her they could adopt, when he'd been confident, deep down, that this was just an awful fluke - but for a moment he understood how devastated he'd be if it turned out he couldn't - they couldn't.

He slid both his arms around her tightly and leaned forward, pressing his face into the soft material of her robe. Leia moved forward a little, so her feet touched the ground between his, and pressed kisses into his hair. She took a deep breath, holding her tongue hesitantly - he seemed so down, more upset than she'd ever seen him, outside of his reaction to a physical injury of hers, and she tried to think of any way she could put his mind at ease, distract him, and comfort him, the way he was so good at doing for her.

She bit her lip, combed through her mind for the right words, the right vocabulary, and leaned closer to talk to him, her voice soft, and only a little confident as she began to speak in his native tongue:

"Time," she murmured. "We need time, Han, that's all," she went on, sweet and deliberate in making sure she spoke correctly - despite being married to one, her Corellian was rusty, at least in terms of speaking; she understood and read it fluently. "It's going to take time to heal. No sense in rushing it."

Han's arms tightened around her, then loosened; he lifted his head cautiously, catching her eyes. His brow furrowed, and he studied her uncertainly - _she speaking.._.? He thought - or was he losing his mind altogether. It sure as hell sounded like -

"Are you speaking," he paused, cocking his ear a little. "Corellian...?"

Leia bit her lip again, and tilted her head, her brows lifting. Her expression answered his question, and he looked baffled, unsure what to say. She thought of how she'd felt, when Han had unexpectedly given his vows in her native language, and wondered if he felt the same - or if he felt betrayed, as though she'd hidden her ability from him in some - subversive act.

"You...been learnin' it?" he ventured.

"Ah," Leia breathed, wincing. "I've had a working knowledge for years," she twitched her nose. "Major system, and all."

Han blinked a few times.

"Bel Iblis," he muttered, arching a brow - suddenly seemed odd that it had never occurred to him before, that she understood it - spoke it. Bel Iblis had been a huge investor in the start of the Rebellion, and Corellia was -

"I never kept it quiet to use against you, I just," she began hoarsely. "Well, I suppose I did at first. When I hated you."

"You never hated me," Han maintained stubbornly.

He shook his head, drawing back, and looking at her intently. He shrugged - he hadn't really thought that, when he realized she was talking to him in Corellian; he hadn't. His first thought had been - _she sounds like a fucking dream_ -

"Sounds nice," he said thickly. "You speakin' it."

She smiled softly.

"Well, we," she swallowed hard, "talked about how Father, and Rouge, and Winter," she listed, "would speak to the baby in Alderaanian, to preserve that," she lifted her shoulders. "I'd want you to feel comfortable speaking your language, too."

She blinked a few times, reaching up to brush under her eyes, and Han nodded. He hesitated, and then gave her a mildly suspicious look.

"So, hang on," he mumbled. "How much did you understand when I'd bitch about you in Corellian, on the way to Bespin?" he asked.

Leia laughed huskily.

"Most of it," she confirmed. She smiled shakily. "It was always very sweet bitching, though," she reminded him pointedly.

"Yeah, I know," Han said grimly, squinting at her. "S'why I was askin'," he grumbled. Since he'd usually had no qualms about telling Leia to her face how annoying she was being, he'd used Corellian more to - abuse himself for - being so -

"Mmmhmm," Leia teased softly. "Slamming hydrospanners around while you berate yourself for falling in love with such a pain in the ass is hardly _too_ offensive."

Han gave her a sheepish look, a smile coming back to his face. He shrugged a little, looking over her shoulder at the sunrise, and then looking back to her.

"I got it better than that guy," he quipped wryly. "Don't I?" he asked. "In spite of...all this."

Leia laced her fingers into his hair again, shrugging softly, nodding slowly. She valued each aspect of their relationship, each little stretch of time during which it had its significant developments - and the trip to Bespin had been something unique all on its own - but she wouldn't go back; she wouldn't give up the place they were in no, the balance they had, the foundation - the trust that was inherent, and not new, and tumultuous, and uncertain.

She smiled a little recklessly.

"Imagine going back to that guy and telling him that _you_ ," she said, a little faux-accusatory, "knocked me up."

Han gave a soft, skeptical whistle.

"He'd be pissed."

"On purpose," Leia added.

"Yeah, he'd think I lost my mind."

Leia nodded, resting her hands on his neck. Her thumbs drew little circles below his ears, and she bent forward, her lips starting to tremble, overwhelmed, rather suddenly, with tears. She shook her head, forehead pressing against his heavily. Han caught her by the shoulders, closing his eyes tightly and setting his jaw - and she held onto him, too, just as tightly, offering just as much support.

" _Time_ ," she murmured - in Corellian again, her voice musical, even in the tones of the rough language. "That's all. We both need time."

Han kissed her nose, his eyes closed, and cleared his throat gruffly.

"Sweetheart, you're just saying 'chrono' over and over," he informed her huskily, "but I get the concept."

Her nose wrinkled, and she laughed, drawing back and biting her lip, flushing with mild embarrassment at butchering the right word during this particular moment - yet it seemed fitting, too, and she gave a quiet little laugh, looking down at her hands. In the silence that fell between them - easier silence, patient, and full of tempered, but still present, grief - she turned to look at the traffic, listen to it hum, watch it scar the sun with dark spots of shadow. She tilted her head towards the living room, inhaling pointedly, to draw his attention to the scent of kaffee.

"Breakfast?" she asked. "Bed?" she offered, as an afterthought - she shifted on his lap, and pursed her lips. She leaned a little closer. "I was thinking about you this morning," she murmured.

Han hesitated, giving her an uncertain little grimace.

"'M not...up for it," he said finally, cringing - it didn't take a leap of the imagination for Leia to understand he was trying - albeit sheepishly - to let her know he wasn't in the mood, and she understood that more than he knew, she thought. The wound was still as fresh for him as it was for her, and she didn't mind being brushed off, at all - she didn't even consider it that.

"Breakfast, then," she said smoothly. She gave him a wry look, and reached up to tap his cheek affectionately. "I'm not a man," she said primly, "lack of desire doesn't baffle me."

She stood, stretching her arms a little, and adjusted her robe, giving in a small wink. Han watched her, rubbing his jaw tensely, and it was only after she got up, and started back into the apartment, back to the kitchen, that he roused himself - and followed, tugging at the collar of his t-shirt.

"Hey, Leia, s'not - lack of desire," he quoted, scowling at the terms - he circled around her as she fetched kaf mugs, and bread for toast, and then leaned on the counter next to her, watching her earnestly. "That's not - "

"I know, Han," Leia murmured. "I get it," she assured him simply - she remembered, acutely, how jarring it had been a week ago, when they'd started down that path, an unfinished, uncomfortable, mess of intimacy that she didn't particularly want to revisit with him, if he wasn't ready, because Han was the person her sexuality was _safe_ with, and she didn't want that complicated, or taken away.

Han frowned, frustrated. He wanted Leia, he always wanted Leia, it was only that...knowing he might inadvertently hurt her, if she got pregnant, and this stuff she was using now was more - temporary, it made him -

"It's like I _want_ to, but," he broke off abruptly.

Leia paused, messing with the twist enclosure on the bread. She looked up at him.

"It scares you?" she supplied.

She could tell, from the look on his face, that he did not like that word - scared. He didn't deny it, though, and Leia nodded, looking back to the bread.

"I get it, Han," she said again, very softly - _you wouldn't believe how much I get it._ "Butter and Shuura preserve?" she suggested. He turned to get those things from the icebox, and paused, holding them in the crook of one arm, looking at the contents of the freezer for a moment.

"Uh," he muttered. "There's a lot of skappi in here. You want me to throw it out?"

"Yes," Leia said quietly, without hesitation.

Han gave her the butter and jam, and disposed of the fruits she'd craved only a handful of weeks ago. He didn't make a huge deal about it, and returned to her side without much ado, reaching for the kaffe decanter to pour. She slathered the bread in jam and butter and _then_ put it in the toaster oven - a preference for which Han usually subjected her to some outraged teasing - _that's the wrong way, Your Highness! - well, how is it wrong if I like it that way, Hotshot?_ \- and then she licked the spoon, turning her head a little.

"We ought to move," she said softly.

Han cocked his head, frowning intently.

"Move? You like it here."

"I did," she said. "I do," she corrected. "It's been...there for us. A good start," she said, laying the spoon in down in front of her carefully. She pulled a full mug of kaffe towards her. "And...we've been through a lot here," she said, cupping the mug. "Father, fighting over children, the miscarriage," she listed huskily. "We ought to...have somewhere fresh. We need a little more space, I think, for kids," she sighed, glancing at the balcony. "Windows that face towards private courtyards, instead of traffic," she said slowly, and then looked back at him. "I want one of those little greenhouse rooms, like a nature yard?" she said tentatively. "For...kids."

Han listened to her, swallowing hard.

"Uhh, with an _s_?" he asked slowly. "It's more than one now? Or...you still want...?" he faltered, unsure what to ask, or how much pressure any questions would put on her - and, admittedly, unsure how he felt right now, in terms of the risk - he so badly didn't want to put her in a bad place again.

"We should, I think," she said slowly, reflectively. "Have more than one. Right?"

Han shrugged. He nodded a little - he'd been lonely, growing up, his mother always having to work to feed him; he was sure if Leia hadn't had Winter, she'd have felt the same - and what she had with Luke was invaluable.

She took a long sip of kaffe, wincing at the temperature.

"You still want to do this?" she asked hesitantly.

Han ran his hands over his face. He chewed on his lip, and then nodded.

"Yeah, I do," he said.

Leia took a deep breath.

"I do, too," she said faintly, her voice small. "The _feeling_ ," she said, gesturing at her heart, and then vaguely at her ribs, her abdomen, "is still there, all the things that made me want to have a baby with you," she explained, "so is the pain, right now."

"It's fresh," Han said dryly. He shrugged. "S'like you said," he added. "We need time."

He used the Corellian word for chrono, though, to tease her a little, and she laughed. She looked up at him, her expression brimming with a ferocious affection; in some ways, her cloudy uncertainty on some aspects of motherhood was clarified by this whole experience - she did want it, _badly_ , and it had taken having the opportunity snatched to show her that. She wanted it with him, and she was relieved to hear him still express hope - if only the process wasn't so scary -

But in some was, even in that respect, her fear was tempered; she felt as if there had been meaning to all of this, even in its emotional brutality; Leia was not one often soothed by faith, she wasn't her brother, she didn't find meaning in terrible things - but somehow, she felt an inkling of grace through the Force, in this - how else would they have possibly found out that Han's blood was careening towards irreversible toxic levels? How else? She was tempted to rage at fate for making it this way - and she wasn't entirely ready to declare a positive aspect to the loss, but for once she did not feel suffocated by the pressure of senseless tragedy.

Skittering on the floor, and Zozy came trotting in, lazy and sleepy, chirping happily the moment he saw his humans standing there. He rose up and pawed at Han's leg with his little talons, and Han, rolling his eyes, reached down and effortlessly swept Zozy up with one hand, placing him on the counter. He scooped up some jam on the spoon, and fed it to him.

"Han," Leia reprimanded loosely. "The counter?"

A few of Zozy's tail feathers shed to the surface, and she arched a brow at them accusingly.

"Leia," retorted Han, mimicking her tone. "We've had sex on this counter. Don't act like you care how clean it is," he reminded her, snorting. "'Sides, you'd be sad if he did his crying noise down there."

Zozy sat down on his haunches and happily chirped at them, attacking the jam covered spoon with vigor. Leia smiled at him, nodding - he was right; she would be. She set her kaffe down and leaned forward, letting Zozy hop up and prance over to her to nuzzle her cheek. She grinned, and picked him up, snuggling him close. Running her palm affectionately over his soft ears, she tilted her head at Han.

She took a deep breath.

"I'm going to meditate," she said firmly - she'd been thinking about it, since their return; thinking about it more now, that she had a better, balanced handle on her sadness, and a better idea of what to look for. The Force might give her some insight on the visions she'd had in the past, might soothe her - might give her nothing at all, but she wanted to see what it had to offer. "Will you sit with me?" she asked him.

Han looked surprised. He nodded slowly.

"Yeah, Sweetheart," he agreed huskily. "Sure." His brow furrowed. "What do I...?"

"You just sit there," she said. "Quiet. Just be there."

"'M pretty good at that," Han said.

Leia nodded. She tilted her head back at the balcony - out there; she wanted to be in the sun, Zozy rolling around basking in it, Han sitting there near her, keeping watch. She gave him a wry, coquettish little smile.

"I thought, after I meditate," she ventured temptingly, "there's no harm in," she lifted her shoulder charmingly, "you and I...laying around, making out all day."

Han grinned smugly.

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"Well, I ain't been propositioned like that in a long time, Your Worship," he drawled - and there was a comical amount of truth in it; he couldn't remember the last time in his life he'd gone no further than kissing a woman, except -

Except with Leia, because when that's all she'd been ready for, that's all he'd pushed for - and now, just _that_ seemed like an incredible suggestion, the right kind of therapy; he wanted to kiss her until neither of them could breathe. He straightened a little, and then leaned over, sliding his cheek against her palm and pulling her in for a kiss, a kiss that was intense and consuming, prolonged and gentle. Leia leaned towards him, drawn in; she felt a little like crying - his proximity was such a strange trigger for what they'd lost; everything about him reminded her so sharply, though in a way that made her want to hold him closer, rather than push him away.

In the heart of it, Zozy scrambled up between them, snout poking at Han's cheek, talons tapping jealously at Leia's shoulder, and Han reared back, giving their bright little pet an olympic glare - and Leia's tears were somehow tried, and shifted into choked laughter, and she lifted her eyes to Han's without any inhibition, not entirely sure if she was laughing or crying - and that was acceptable, that she could cope with - she and Han were hurting, and she embraced it; and because she embraced it - and in time, in time, they would heal.

* * *

 _\- alexandra_


	7. Epilogue, Part 2

.

* * *

 _Epilogue, Part 2_

 _[2 years post Identity;  
1 year + 1/2 post-marriage]_

 _New Year Festival Week / Haven Consecration_

 _8 ABY_

* * *

It was truly remarkable, the way in which Leia's people had so elegantly woven their Haven into the fabric of Yavin IV - graceful, unassuming, and respectful; the former Rebel outpost looked much as he remembered it, and yet it was so vastly changed: a welcoming, thriving colony. He knew - from her stories, from the things Bail and Rouge and all the others had said during the planning of the sanctuary - that Alderaan had been a traditionally conservationist planet, never trampling or misusing their own resources, never mutilating or eroding their native flora and fauna - but to see that essence in action was fascinating, and humbling. Han had never been particularly interested in, or moved by, things such as art and architecture, but this place was brilliant - it was quiet, hidden salvation at a reverent peak, and though he was not one of them - though he was an outsider to this entire Diaspora of people who had lost everything, he still found himself in awe of the achievement that the Haven was and, on some microscopic level, capable of understanding - in the face of this renaissance - just how immensely devastating the loss had been.

It wasn't that he had previously thought it a minor event - from a logical, obvious standpoint he had fully understood the sheer malice involved in demolishing an entire world, and he had - academically, so to speak, known it was calamitous in terms that could not be quantified - and he had, naturally, seen first-hand Leia's grief, and Leia's emotional desolation, over the loss of her planet - but it had only ever been cerebral for him. For the first time - surrounded by the entirety of Alderaan's survivors, all brought together in weeks of mourning and celebration, catharsis and healing, he felt some deeply-rooted sense of horror at what had happened - and he felt it personally, in a way he hadn't before, and almost couldn't define, until, until -

Until the moment he was watching Leia christen the baby, his eyes fixed on her delicately braided hair, expensive gown, the regal stiffness of her shoulders - stared at her performing the ceremony, and was jolted with the sharp realization that - Leia's children, his and Leia's children, would never have the chance to really know Alderaan, for all it had been, and for all it had been to Leia. That bothered him, so suddenly and intensely - he took Corellia for granted; of course they'd know Corellia, but Alderaan hadn't just been Leia's home, it had been the place that adopted her, accepted her, and to be unable to anchor herself to that through sharing it with her own children seemed - devastating in its own right, in a way Han hadn't considered.

There was a lot, he figured, that he had not considered, or reflected on with any depth, until recently; until Leia got pregnant, until he and Leia lost the baby - his own mortality, everything in between. He was a prominent figure in all the Haven ceremonies - no speaking parts, but visible on the dais because of his rank as Leia's husband - and the massive amounts of people present was a stark reminder that though the crowds looked large, they did not even begin to cover the whole of Yavin - and this, _this_ was all that was left of a planet that was once the galaxy's brightest jewel.

He was inexplicably angry that so much effort was now required to ensure that the culture of Alderaan, the memory of Alderaan, would remain alive - when Leia had mentioned, months ago, that her family members had proposed speaking only Alderaanian to the baby, to ensure the language survived, Han had shrugged, thinking that fine with him, but now it resonated - he noticed, more so when Winter sadly pointed it out, that many of the young children here spoke haltingly in their parents' language; they were more well-versed in Basic, or the language of whatever planet they'd taken refuge within.

He found himself interested in the ceremonies and traditions, asking questions, paying attention - thinking about the future. In the years and months that went into planning this sanctuary, he had nursed a vague worry about Leia, how it would be for her - hard, upsetting, emotional - and that worry had been amplified, in the past few months, after everything they had been through, knowing she was insisting on performing the Christening despite everything - _My mother would have done it, Han, my mother did do it, every year, even if it broke her heart, and I am not going to let her down._ The raw freshness off the loss was gone, but he knew that moment on the dais had opened the wound a little, pierced scar tissue - for him, it had thrown things into sharp relief - _if everything had gone right, in a month or so, Leia and I, we'd have -_

Moving through the columns of the temple where the grand reception for Winter's wedding was taking place, Han shook his head, his jaw stiff - blinked a few times, glancing around at the festivities - the drinking, the dancing, the laughter - Leia had wandered off, some time after Winter's first dance with Tycho, after Winter's bouquet had smacked Luke in the face - why he was standing so near the group of women, Han was unsure. She had seemed serene through the ceremony, standing up with Winter; all day, she had seemed serene - the tears that had come after the Christening ceremony a few days ago were gone, and she was less subdued, but that grief, he knew, was at the forefront again, and mixed with all the lingering ache over Alderaan - these ceremonies seemed to be gorgeous, and terrible, all at once - not only for Leia, but for everyone.

The opening sacrament - the funeral for the Queen, which stood as a proxy ceremony for Alderaan itself - had been so solemn, so final, and Leia had surprised him, white-faced later that night, curled up in bed in their quarters, her head resting against his chest - _I don't want the crown, I never wanted it, but laying her to rest without - a coronation for me - is so brutal - it's all over; it's all gone._ Han related to the loss of a mother well enough, but to the loss of dynasty, ancient tradition - that was beyond his comprehension, and he knew Leia felt a part of their family, but not quite a part of that enduring monarchical tradition, and she felt - he thought she felt - like some resented her, for being the end.

These people, though - all around him - Han could tell they loved their Princess Leia, and that too, was remarkable, if a little unnerving. To know so many people looked to her to guide and lead, and idolized her - that was one thing, but to experience it, to see it first hand, that was entirely eye-opening.

In search of her, he slipped behind the scenes of the wedding reception, avoiding catching attention - Winter was center stage on the raised dais where, so long ago now, Leia had placed a medal around his neck. Her white blonde hair was loose, a little tangled, tumbling over her shoulders, and that in itself was a moment of clarity for Han - when he'd watched Tycho Celchu unbraid Winter's hair as tradition mandated, and realized he had never seen it unbraided before - _never_ \- and it looked intimate, and free, and retrospectively, he thought about the first time he'd seen Leia's hair unbraided, and how he hadn't had a damn clue, even though she'd told him it was significant.

Leia caught his eye during the vows, and gave him a dazzling smile.

He hoped that smile was still lingering, hoped she still felt dazzled - the wedding should have been one of the better moments for her, during all this, and he wondered what might have sent her slipping away, hiding -

He stepped out of the temple, and took a path down the primal stone steps, following natural pathways scattered with stones and leaves, framed by arches of trees - same path to seclusion he'd drawn Leia away to after the Christening; same path he'd seen her disappear down after the Battle of Yavin. This time - she wasn't there; he did not find her hiding among the trees, but on a bewildered trek back towards the temple, he spotted her - close to one of the side entrances, just outside of the candlelit revelry. She sat on one of the intricately carved stone steps of the temple, a bouquet of flowers sitting next to her, face turned up to the starry, moonstruck sky.

Smiling a little, Han approached her, ensuring his footfalls were obvious, but gentle, so it wouldn't startle her. He stood staring at her for a moment, and then sat down on the step next to her, his eyes falling slowly from her hairstyle, to her line of her jaw, to the high heels sitting near her feet - her toes curled as he looked at them, and she shifted a little, tilting her gaze towards him. Han said nothing for a moment, admiring her gown - she had changed for the reception, out of her demure white gown into something altogether more arresting. Iridescent and somehow translucent and glittery without being indecent, she now wore a ball gown that was seductive, but angelic, sheer, but coy, and Han had salivated over it all evening - though now, for the moment, his lust was tempered with affection, and interest, in what had drawn her out alone, to the wilderness outside.

Without a word, he leaned over and nudged her shoulder with his, a flirtatious, light touch that made her lips turn up in a smile. She lowered her gaze from the stars, and glanced over at him, her eyes bright, and Han swallowed hard.

"You look incredible," he said huskily. "You know?" he shook his head. "That dress is...you look...damn good."

Leia blushed softly, her eyes drifting down over his ensemble. She lifted an eyebrow.

"You don't look so bad yourself," she complimented, with a wry little smirk - he'd been in Alderaanian dress, robes and suits like her father's, for the past two weeks, and she was as taken with it as she'd imagined she would be.

Han tugged at the collar of his suit, and then ran his hand over the hemline of the cape, pushing it tensely back over his shoulder. He shrugged a little - he didn't mind the getup too much, he'd decided. It wasn't as uncomfortable as he'd thought - and any grumblings he'd had that he'd look silly in it were arguably a moot point, as everyone here was Alderaanian, and they thought it entirely normal. He smirked, and rested his arms loosely over his knees, tapping his boot on the step below him.

"So, you look good, I look good," he drawled smoothly. "S'gonna be a good night. Not a lot of sleepin', 'M thinkin'," he suggested.

"Mmmhmm," she murmured agreeably.

"I want you to keep the dress on."

"Hmm," Leia murmured. She tilted her head towards him, and brushed her hands at the tulle. "You think you can find what you're looking for in all this?"

Han nodded seriously.

"Ev'n if I was blind, Sweetheart."

She compressed her lips in a smile, and leaned back, her palms supporting her weight behind her. Han looked over her - again at the heels next to her, her bare feet, the flowers she'd been carrying for the wedding, and he thoughtfully tried to gauge her mood: was she sad, resentful, happy? Was there something about the wedding, the reception? She appeared to be calm, just thinking - he wondered, at the core, what all of this was like for her - he, for one, saw a lot of positivity, despite the sadness of what had happened to these people. He pressed his knuckles together, and cleared his throat, squinting up at the sky - the weather was balmy: cool breeze, warm air.

"You doin' okay, Leia?" he asked quietly.

He looked over at her cautiously, and she nodded. She was quiet for a little longer, and then she turned, glancing over her shoulder, staring between columns into the halls of the temple. She licked her lips, and then turned back to him, pulling one hand into her lap.

"I'm so happy for her," she said sincerely. "Winter's so happy and I'm," she clicked her tongue softly. "It's wonderful."

Han nodded, nudging her shoulder with his again. Leia blushed, and sat forward, her elbows on her knees. She looked down at her hands, brushing her fingers together, and then reached up to brush her fingers gently under one of her eyes, pressing her lips together hard. Han reached over to cup his hand around her bare shoulder, studying her intently, silently asking if anything else was wrong. Leia's lips trembled, and she smiled with a small shrug.

"This is all so," she began, gesturing slowly at her heart, her palms upwards, "emotional, all of it."

Han nodded again - sure it was; if he'd been feeling so introspective and pensive about the whole thing, he knew it was magnified for her - Alderaan, her mother, the baby - all of it. He pressed his hand against her more firmly, and Leia touched her cheek gingerly with her palm, blotting at small tears.

"The, ah, father-daughter dance," she whispered. "I left so - Father could dance with Winter, it's less awkward if I'm not conspicuous," she rambled quietly, taking a deep breath. She bit her lip. "Whyler was dancing with Maiah," she murmured. She looked at Han, her head tilted, eyes glittering at him through her lashes. "Thought of you, and," she trailed off, shrugged.

Han rubbed his thumb in circles on her skin, swallowing hard.

"Yeah," he said huskily.

Leia nodded, sure that he understand, and placed her head lightly on his shoulder, staring out over the wooded paths surrounding the ancient temple. She felt such an uplifting sense of optimism here, and in spite of tears, and sadness, that lingered around, or struck hard with all the memories, it was pain she now valued, because she was remembering the glory of the past - and she was seeing how her people had persevered, how strong they were, how good. Her mother - Breha Organa had so utterly embodied the spirit of Alderaan as a whole, and she was an inspiring figure.

Han looked thoughtfully at the crown of her head as she rested it against him, thinking of the past few months - the slow return to a sort of normal, after Leia's miscarriage, after the fervor started to die down, and their routine was re-established. It had been a process of the sharp pain lessening for her, day by day, fading into stale, but present sadness, slowly becoming fear, or anticipation for the future - the days during which Han had undergone his bacta treatment for his bone marrow resonated starkly; they were difficult, but hopeful. It had been such a time of - limbo, of re-orientation; during which they talked about moving, in which Han wondered about his next steps - and he still wondered, as his commission decision approached, and Leia lingered in her career, unsure if now was the time to challenge Mon Mothma, or if she wanted her old mentor to have another term.

In many respects, Han was unsure where they were on some things - but Leia was unsure, too. There was no timeline, just a sense of recovering, of thinking of the future - Leia had never recommitted to permanent contraceptive, and that was something, but neither had she made any definitive overtures in any other way, and Han, healing faster, and less weighed down, did not feel right asking. He turned his head now, and kissed the crown of her head, closing his eyes - only for Leia to shift restlessly.

"Han?" she murmured, sitting up straight, her eyes fixed first on her feet, and then on her hands - and then, inexplicably, up at the stars, lips parted thoughtfully.

He grunted softly, expectantly, listening, and she hesitated, moistening her lips. She took a deep breath, and looked at him sideways, a look of quiet determination on her composed face, purpose glittering in her eyes - strength, shining, in the way she looked at him, and he lifted his brows a little, intimidated by what might be coming.

"I think I'm ready to try again."

He only stared at her as her words settled - softly spoken, but confidently decided, and she searched his expression with patience, and curiosity, waiting for him to respond.

He didn't, right away; he was thinking about the last time he'd been on Yavin with her, when she was just some stuck-up, tortured young princess, and he was an irreverent smuggler with a death mark on him - nothing, really, to each other, compared to the everything they were now. He was thinking - how unbelievable it was that since then, she had loved him, married him, become the brightest spot in his universe, and here she was again, resilient in the face of tragedy, refusing to be cowed by it.

His question was hoarse, almost rough -

"You sure, Leia?"

She was quick with a resolved, proud nod, and was bursting into a shaky smile when he leaned over, in a rush to kiss her, touch her cheek, stroke his hand back over her hair.

"Leia," he murmured, relief, and anticipation, and awe - all kinds of things, hammering through him, tightening in his chest in a wholesome feeling, a good feeling. He kissed her harder, then slower, soft, short - a thousand evolutions of a kiss, and then he pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes searching, earnest, asking again, silently - if she was sure.

She nodded.

"I hate that it happened," she said huskily. "I hate that we lost," she didn't use a pronoun, just trailed off; enough was said. She lifted her shoulders. "It happened," she finished. "Maybe it had to," she whispered - because in all that, she had learned how to grieve again, and grieve well, healthy, and cathartic; and in all that, she had learned of Han's health threat, and ensured that she wouldn't lose him now, not until he was older than she could imagine - "I have a feeling, I have," she said quickly, her breath catching. "I have a feeling...it won't happen again."

Han's shoulder's tensed with anticipation - it was so rare for Leia to have an unequivocally good feeling, and he trusted it, as he trusted her other feelings, and he felt soothed, and anxious, all at once, on the verge of asking - _what if it does?_ \- but in her eyes, he already found the answer: if it did, she - they - would survive, and they'd find their way forward, somehow, because they always did - and Leia bit her lip, looking back at him with calm certainty - she had reflected on this, meditated on this, and though there were no certainties in life, something told her that the worst of what she would ever face was over - that in this endeavor, her path forward was clear - _safe;_ the Force whispered to her - _he's safe, your Han; you're both safe._

Leia closed her eyes, tears pricking at them, but she smiled. She felt invigorated, and renewed, by all this resilience and faith around her, the mixture of nostalgia, sadness, respect, and perseverance - her mother's spirit, and the miracle of her father - the complexity of the world was so utterly bewildering, but so peaceful in an uncontrollable, unorthodox way - and she was sure of what she wanted; right now, she was sure she was ready.

It all hit her like a lightening bolt, the self-assured confidence, the sudden awareness – almost reminiscent as the steady, warm touch of her mother's hand on her shoulder – that she was strong enough not to give up; that she was ready to ask for another chance to have some new life in her arms, with her own sensitivity and Han's eyes, and Han's smile.

He drew her closer, his body twisting into her gown, wrapping his arms around her intimately, and Leia pressed into him, sighing contently, sighing in quiet relief. She broke into a shimmering smile at his shoulder, her face buried in his neck, and she started to laugh softly – tentatively, and then helpless with it.

Han kissed her temple, and then looked over at the trees, and up to the stars, his teeth scraping over his lip – he had never believed in higher powers; the only higher power he believed in was her, but for the briefest moment, he wanted to think his mother could see him now, and be proud – no, he knew: she would be proud –

And he and Leia, they weren't yoked by the war, or by the traumas of the past; they weren't casualties of it all: they were veterans.

* * *

 _Epilogue, Part 2_

* * *

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End file.
